


Family Ways

by Maygra



Series: Family Ways [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s01e15 The Benders, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 15:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maygra/pseuds/Maygra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally published in June 2006 on Livejournal</p><p>Note: This is an idea that 's been poking me in the head for awhile. It started out as a short spec and then wouldn't leave me alone. The little girl and the family as a whole in the Benders creeped me out. I would like them to stop, please.</p><p> <br/>  <i>The characters and situations portrayed here are not mine, they belong to the WB/CW. This is a fan authored work and no profit is being made. Please do not link to this story without appropriate warnings. Please do not archive this story without my permission.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Family Ways Part One - Beau

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Family Ways Part One - Beau**   
>  **by Maygra**
> 
>  
> 
> Rating: PG13 for themes  
> Characters: Pa & Missy Bender,  
> Sam  
> Slight AU for _The Benders_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _(1,268 Words)_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> +++++

He finds her where he expects to; sitting in the barn on a hay bale staring into the right hand cage. She's got Lee's old S&W in her hand, barrel gleaming, loaded but resting across her knees, muzzle pointed at the other cage.

He makes sure she hears him, coming up beside her and sees her eyes flicker toward him. The fella in the left cage snores and rolls over. The other one hasn't moved much. Could be Jarrod hit him a little too hard.

He sits down on the bale next to her, pulls off his jacket; it's a little chilly out here and she's got nothin' but her blue dress on and her mother's old sweater -- a worn old thing and still too big for her.

"You should come on in and go to bed, sugar. It's late," he says, quiet. He can be quiet around her, unlike the boys. He misses that sometimes. Her momma was a quiet one too.

"I will, in a little bit," she says but pulls his jacket up around her shoulders and smiles at him. She's got her momma's smile too.

"You waiting for him to wake up?" he asks.

Missy shakes her head. "Naw. Not really. I just…He's real handsome, ain't he, Pa? He's pretty like them men you see in the magazines."

He had to laugh at that, but he kept it low. Missy didn't much like being laughed at. "Well, I reckon he is, honey. I guess if you think so. Not like your brother's 'n me would know a good looking feller from an ugly one."

"Hmphf," she said and handed him the gun, getting closer so she could squat next to the cage. He moved up behind her, looking where she looked.

Boy'd been out for a good long while. He'd struggled some Lee said, but from the bruises both he and Jarrod had been sporting, he thought maybe this one struggled more than a little. Jarrod had hit him hard…might have broke his skull, which would mean he wouldn't be no use to them at all. But he seemed to be breathing okay; weren't blood leaking all over his cage, anyway.

"He's a big 'un, Missy. I'll give you that. Looks like he knows what hard work is," he said, offering his objective opinion. The boy had calluses on his hands, and they'd found a good scattering of scars and bruises when they'd stripped him down, taken his wallet. No more than a couple of dollars on him, though, which made Lee mad.

Missy reached in and let her fingers push his hair back. He almost jerked her back, but the boy really was out cold. He kept the gun ready though. She smoothed his hair, then her own. Smiled up at him. "I like him, Pa."

"Now, Missy"

She made a face. "I know…I know we can't keep him. But you did say...you said," she said with that voice just like her momma's, "You said, when I got my blooding, that I could. I could pick one."

"I did, honey. I did promise you that…but…it's only been a few months--"

"It's been almost a year!" she said, exasperated, voice rising. The feller in the left hand cage stirred. "Ain't like I'm gonna meet me no boys in town. Won't even let me go with Lee for supplies no more."

That was more Lee's fault that anything, not looking after her, keeping an eye on her. Meant he couldn't go find him women or whiskey. Leaving Missy in the diner with a soda and ice cream -- anything could have happened to her. He about killed Lee for that and Jarrod weren't no better. Neither one of them with sense enough to know that Missy was special, like her momma had been.

"All right, I know what I said, girl. And I keep my word." He scratched at his jaw, staring at the boy. He was young…good stock. "You sure? He's likely to fight."

She looked back at her chosen favorite. "Jarrod and Lee won't let him hurt me and ain't like them two is going to be adding to the family any time, with them trollops they like so much."

He shook his head and chuckled, saw her smile. Yep, she had her brothers pretty well pegged most days. Still, Missy was young yet, but she did have her woman's blood flowing, and she wasn't wrong that his two sons had yet to bring home either wives or grandchildren, though Lee had tried twice. But he tended to go for the feisty ones and that one Jarrod had brought home...

Just as well. She was the devil's own, that one, killing herself and Jarrod's baby without a thought. If she'd been a month or two further along, they might have been able to save the baby. Wasn't no different than pulling out a calf. But they'd been too late.

"All right. You sleep on it and I will too, and we'll see if you still think he's the one when he wakes up - how about that?"

She wasn't all that happy, but she gave it thought, eyeing him. He met her gaze, Then she nodded. "Sleep on it. But I ain't going to change my mind, Pa. And that means Jarrod and Lee c'ain't hunt him. Not till I've got my piece of him. And you neither," she said seriously.

"You still feel the same way in the morning, you'll have my word on it, girl. That's a fact." He reached out, pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. She was a pretty one. Pretty as her momma, smart. Lida had said she'd be the smart one, the one who'd know what was right, do well by the family. She'd loved their sons, loved him, but she knew Missy was something special the first minute she laid eyes on her. "You go on in and get to bed, now."

She smiled at him, flung her arms around him. "I will, Pa. Thank you," she said and she was gone, looking back once at him and once at her beau.

Missy'd be the one to keep the family going. Be nice if he could find her a proper beau, a proper husband, proper addition to the family.

He got closer to the cage and stared down, chewing on his beard. Might be this one could be that. Maybe.

Jarrod said he'd come out with a bunch of books and papers, though. More maps and books in that car of his. This was a feller with some learning. More than his boys or Missy. In his experience, the ones with book learning didn't much care for the likes of them. Didn't understand family, didn't understand much of anything, living under laws and rules that didn't have nothing to do with the way God made a man to be.

But Missy was special. Maybe it'd be like that for her, like it was between him and Lida. If this boy thought his girl was special, maybe they'd give him a chance. See if he might…well, at least until the baby was born. Maybe that long. Even if he didn't stay, every man should get a chance to see his own child born.

He backed up, turned out the lights, glanced at he left hand cage. "Guess you'll be getting your chance first there," he said quietly and smiled. That'd settle Jarrod and Lee some. Let 'em get it out of their system. Missy had taken care of their women for 'em. Time they returned the favor.

~end~

06/16/2006


	2. Family Ways Part One - Beau

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Family Ways Part Two - Traditions  
> by Maygra  
> Rating: PG for themes, twisted and wrong.  
> Characters: Pa (Neal) Bender  
> Slight AU for The Benders
> 
> Note: I was enabled. This however, is not for everyone. Uhm, continues just after Beau. his is an idea that 's been poking me in the head for awhile. Just a short spec.The little girl and the family as a whole in the Benders creeped me out. I would like them to stop, please.
> 
> (2,092 Words)
> 
> The characters and situations portrayed here are not mine, they belong to the WB. This is a fan authored work and no profit is being made. Please do not link to this story without appropriate warnings. Please do not archive this story without my permission.  
> +++++

Would surprise Neal if Missy changed her mind. He didn't really expect her to, but he needed a night to think about it. Worry on it some.

No man likes to think of another man touching his women folk, be it wife or daughter. But that was the way of things, and if he didn't give Missy what she wanted, what she'd been bending his ear about on and off for the past year, she'd find a way to take it herself. And might be she'd talk the boys into it, one or t'other.

He'd warned the boys, both of them, more'n once; since before Missy'd first started getting her cycles, before she'd first started looking less like a flat-chested boy and more like woman, that he'd make sure neither of them would never father children if they touched her. They'd both looked at him like he was crazy the first time he'd said it when Missy was ten years old. Long hair or not, she'd tied it up and braided it, kept up with them boys from the moment she could walk. They didn't think of her like that…

Until she started changing, getting curves where she'd had bones before. Lee especially, who didn't have the sense God gave fleas half the time. Neal had caught him peeking when Missy'd take her bath on Sundays. Fetching her more hot water if she wanted it.

Boy didn't even fetch hot water for himself. Neal had taken him out to the smoke house and whupped him bloody. Didn't matter none that Lee was a man full grown. The day he couldn't still put his boys on their knees, was they day he'd beg them to shoot and bury him.

"Don't you think I don't know what's in your mind when you look at her. But she's your sister, your own flesh and blood! You ever think to look at your Momma that way, boy? You ever think about doing the things you do to your women, them hussies and whores you like, to your own sister and I will tie you to the truck and drag you until you get some sense beaten into you. She's your family! She's the one cooks your food and washes your clothes. She ain't for you. You understand me, boy?"

Lee had. And Jarrod had known too. For good and proper.

But he wasn't a fool. Give Missy a couple of years and even his threats wouldn't make much difference. Hadn't for him. He hadn't been able to keep his hands off Lida, and she hadn't wanted him to. He thought their Pa was going to kill them both. Would have too if Neal hadn't been that much faster, that much younger.

He hadn't meant to kill his Daddy. Meant to stop him from killing Lida or him, but he hadn't meant to kill him. His momma had believed him, then she sat them both down, told them why Daddy'd been so mad.

Momma had been right, Daddy too. Lida'd lost more babies than had been born alive. And she'd wanted a lot of babies, wanted passel of kids like they grew up with, more hands to help. But she'd lost the first two. Then had come Jarrod. Wailing like a banshee, strong lungs, good heart. But Jarrod was a little off sometimes. Neal didn't know what it was. Just a little slow; he was a good boy though.

Momma had given them money, told them where to go, to find a place.

Made sense anyway. Too many already, mouths to feed. And they'd' all know, if he and Lida stayed. So he moved them both out a bit.

Hadn't been a year later when his younger brother Martin had stopped by to tell him Momma was dead too. Killed herself. Family was scattering.

He'd waited another year or two, gone back and found the old place abandoned.

But it was his. He was the eldest.

If Daddy'd told him, maybe, that there would be problems with the babies…but no. Too late by then. If he'd told him when he was younger, before Lida went and got all soft and curvy and with that wicked smile of hers. Maybe then.

He wasn’t going to make the same mistake with his boys, nor with Missy. It had been the babies that had killed Lida. The three that followed Missy. Lida'd gotten sicker after every one, a little crazier. He'd tried to stay away from her a bit. Let her recover, but then she'd call out for him…want him.

He never could say no to her. His sister had been a determined woman.

Had a hard time saying no to Missy as well.

But he could say no to the boys. Say it and make them understand.

But if Missy was like her Momma that way too, she'd find a way around them, around him. Beating the boys bloody wouldn't change that. Women…some women…they could make a man go crazy. Lida had been like that. Missy would be too.

He wasn't going to lose his little girl the way he'd lost his Lida with the blood too close and sick with bad, twisted babies.

And maybe those two idiots would know that if they wanted any part of what Neal owned to come to them, they'd better start raising families of their own, quit make such stupid choices in their women.

Different problem for a different day. If Missy had a baby to look after, she wouldn't be worrying too much about twisting her brothers around her fingers any more than she already did. Maybe she wouldn't be so sullen and out of sorts. Lida had always been happiest when she was either carrying a baby or raising one.

But this feller…he was a big man and Missy was a small girl -- woman. Lida hadn't been but a year or so older, though and not much bigger than Missy. He'd have to check this boy, didn't want Missy being hurt. If she'd really taken a shine to this boy…well, up to him and the boys to make sure it was good for her. Lida always told him the better the joining, the easier the carrying.

She'd used grease their first time. Her first time…and it had still been hard on her. She'd hurt some -- he could tell, but she came back at him like he hadn't left her bleeding. Missy was just as tough. She'd been kicked by the cows, bitten by dogs, gotten her foot caught in that old beaver trap and never a tear from her. So, he and the boys would make this as easy for her as they could; make it special.

Make sure that boy couldn't do nothing to hurt her.

Now, that could take some thinking, some planning. Couldn't leave him with his hands free, let him make a grab at his girl. Couldn't do it in the cage -- might be easier to handle him there, but if his little girl was going to get a baby from this feller, it was going to be nice for her. In a proper bed.

He reached back, felt for the iron of his own bedstead. It was still sturdy. He looked around. It was the biggest room, and Missy might like getting her baby on the same bed her momma had gotten her. He smiled at that. Lida had liked traditions. He could tell Missy that, let her come in here…maybe bring her own quilts, maybe her dolls. She talked to them like they were her kids anyway. She'd been practicing for this.

Let her look through her mother's chest. Lida had some pretty things she'd saved up. Always meant to give them to Missy, had packed them careful in cedar and mothballs.

He sat up, lit the lamp again. Needed to clean up some things, make sure there weren't no knives or guns...things that feller might use if he got loose.

No. No, no…couldn't chance that. Damn. Have to be in here with her, him or the boys…

Have to be the boys. Wasn't right for him to watch his girl with her beau. Weren't much more right for the boys to see it, but he couldn't leave her alone. Couldn't give her a knife either -- that feller was big, strong. Maybe he wasn't the kind to hurt girls or maybe he was. No way to know. No time to find out.

His eyes caught on the ragged curtains, moving in the night air. They were worn things but still blocked light…cast shadows on the open beams.

He chuckled to himself. Well, all right then. Lida had circled the bed with curtains in that old trailer they'd had first -- kept the flying bugs out of the bed. She'd seen it in a magazine. Done the same thing later with Jarrod's crib to keep the bugs and the rats out.

The boys could stay in the room then, and Missy could have her own little…her own…there was a word for it. A fancy word. Boudoir. Give Missy a fancy place…something pretty. Girls liked pretty. Missy didn't fuss much, but she liked the shiny barrettes Jarrod had given her for her thirteenth birthday. She liked to bring in flowers from the field, putting them right there in the kitchen when they worked. Got mad when they spattered blood on her flowers.

"Oh, Lida…wish you were here, darlin'," he said, kneeling down by her chest, rubbing his hands over the worn wood. "I think you'd want better for our girl…but it's getting harder. Harder to keep up the family…keep us away from the rest."

The chest squeaked a little when he opened it. He needed to grease the hinges. The scent of camphor was stronger than the smell of cedar, made his nose and throat burn a little. But he reached in, under the first layer of newspapers, felt the smooth soft cloths she'd kept there. He pushed the paper back carefully, found the box. Lee had made it. Was fine work, long and narrow, sanded smooth. Carved from a single thick trunk of ash. Hinged with leather and the fancy little brass tacking he'd found.

Missy's hair was just like her mother's, halfway between brown and gold, soft and curling. He'd loved Lida's hair, glad she never cut it. 'bout the only thing he'd ever been able to hold steady on Missy with, not cutting her hair. 'course she had six years or so ago; sweet-talked Jarrod into cutting it for her, told him it got in her way when she hunted.

He'd made Jarrod gather it all back up, bind it, and give it to him. He held up the longer hank of hair, Lida's hair, folded up sleek and soft in the box, Missy's shorter bundle next to it. Same color. Exact same color.

That feller's hair was a little darker. He was tall too. He smiled at that. Serve his boys right if their new nephew grew up to be taller than them.

Course it could be a girl. Neal wouldn't mind that either. House needed a woman. Every house needed a woman in it.

He stroked over the smooth wood. "If it's a boy, I'll ask Missy to name it after me. Maybe Daddy. Daddy should have his name remembered. But if it's a girl…we'll call her Lida. House don't feel the same without you, darlin'. Don't feel like a home really without a Lida in it," he said quietly. "I'm doing my best, here, girl. I'll do my best by our girl. I will."

He petted Lida's hair and put it back, set the box aside and reached deeper in, found the dresses wrapped in tissue paper, found the curtains. They felt frail in his hands, like Lida had before she died, but they didn't tear under his hands, not easy anyway.

Little flowers dotted the edges of them. Missy would like the flowers.

Maybe that feller would see that Missy was special. Maybe he'd…he'd want to see his baby raised.

He didn't think so, but he could hope for it. If it would make Missy happy, he'd do his best.

You take care of our girl, Neal. She's a special one, she is. She'll be the one to pull you and the boys through this all, you see if she don't. You do right by her. You promise me.

He'd promised. He could make it right for her. Make it good.

See if he didn't.

end

 

06/16/2006


	3. Supernatural: Family Ways Part Three - Courting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Family Ways Part Three - Courting**   
>  **by Maygra**
> 
> Rating: Mature Adult for themes.  
> Warnings: Horror. Twisted and wrong. Underage Sex, Child abuse, Incest, Masturbation, reference to rape and  
> murder  
> Characters: Missy Bender, Lee Bender  
> Slight AU for _The Benders_
> 
> Note: I was enabled. This however, is not for everyone. Heed Warnings, please.
> 
> (2,790 Words)
> 
>  _The characters and situations_ portrayed here are not mine, they belong to the WB. This is a fan authored work and no profit is being made. Please do not link to this story without appropriate warnings. Please do not archive this story without my permission.  
>  +++++

She had to get her chores done first. Wanted them done so Pa couldn't find any reason to change his mind. Not that he would, because he'd given his word, butbest not give him any reason to think any more on it. 

Plus, if she got her chores done, she could get breakfast started, get Jarrod to let her take the food out to the cages. Pa said the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. Lee said the way was something else, and she thought he might be righter than Pa, at least as far as women were concerned. But even Lee said she cooked real good. Made biscuits like Momma did. Her bread didn't never fall no more, come out like a brick. 

She was almost too excited to sleep anyway, thinking about that feller. She wasn't sure what it was that she liked so much about him. Maybe because he was younger than most of the men the boys dragged home. Maybe because his face had been smooth. She didn't get to see many smooth-faced young men. He'd had soft hair too, soft skin, although she had to be careful not to let her Pa know she'd already been close to the cage once to touch him. 

She hadn't opened it. She wasn't stupid. Usually she wasn't that interested either, since Pa still wouldn't let her hunt with Jarrod and Lee. Made her mad. Wasn't like she couldn't outrun both of them when she wanted too. Quieter in the woods than them, too. 

But the guns were heavy. So were the cross bows. Maybe she should start practicing with them, running and carrying them. Seemed like if she was old enough and big enough to do the gutting and skinning, she should be old enough to do the hunting and killing too. 

She wasn't sure how she'd feel about hunting this one though. She might like to have his hair to pet, like Pa did Mama's, but nicer to do it if he could pet back, maybe. She felt her cheeks flush at that thought of that. Wondered what that would be like, to have a man touch her the way the boys touched their women. 

Now Pa and the boys touched her; hugged her, patted her cheek, but it wasnt the same. She'd watched Lee and Jarrod touch their women. Not so they'd know, of course. Jarrod was almost always nice and gentle. Made her madder at that stupid girl -- what was her name? Darla or Dana or something -- had up and killed herself when Jarrod had been mostly real nice to her. 

Killed her baby too and that just made no sense at all. None. 

Now Lee's womenLee wasnt near so nice. He was rough with them sometimes, made their mouths bleed and sometimes other places. But he _could_ be nice, like Jarrod. At least, he'd been nice to her that one time. 

Just that one time. But it had felt good. She'd let him do it again if he asked and he had asked her. That was something Lee didn't hardly ever do. Usually he just told her to do this, or get that. Well, unless Pa was there. 

She didn't understand Lee hardly at all most days. Sometimes he could be sweet as Jarrod and other days, she wanted to hit him with a shovel or something, he was so mean and nasty to her. It wasn't like she'd told Pa anything, hadn't told him that Lee had asked to touch her or that she'd let him. 

And it hadn't been much more than that, hardly more than he'd done when she was little and he'd given her a bath. He told her that, that he'd touched her like that when she was real young, But she didnt remember it. Didn't ever remember his fingers on her breasts, certainly didn't remember her nipples getting all hard and kind of shivery like that. She'd liked that, the way that felt, made her feel all kind of shivery inside too, like when she touched herself. 

She'd told him to touch her there, where she put her own fingers and it was so much nicer when he did it. She'd had to hold onto the sides of the toilet seat when he did it. His fingers were so much bigger than her and rougher -- felt wonderful. She'd gotten all excited and felt like she might faint 

Then he'd gotten all mad at her 'cause she'd peed. Wasn't like she meant to. She hadn't even known she had to pee when they'd started. But oh, boy, had he been mad. So mad, she'd started laughing -- which made him madder. But it was funny., him shaking his hand off like he'd grabbed up dog shit. But it was only piss. Wasn't like the livestock didn't piss on him all the time. 

Still, she'd forgotten that Lee didn't like being laughed at anymore than she did. She thought for a minute that he'd hit her -- but she had looked at him, dared him. Because while she might not tell Pa she'd let Lee touch her, she'd sure as hell tell him if he hit her. 

So he'd washed his hand off, and gotten up. "I'm sorry for laughing," she said before he could leave. She really wasn't, but she also wanted more of what Lee had been doing. It had felt like almost enough for something wonderful, but not quite. He hadn't quite gotten to her the way she'd managed a couple of times on her own and it was nice not to have to twist around. Nice not to have her wrist be tired. "Come on, Lee. I said I was sorry," she said. 

Hadn't worked very well. She'd stung his pride. "I ain't 'sposed to be touching you anyway. Pa,'d kill me," he said. 

She hadn't known that, and the minute Lee said it she knew he wished he hadn't. "You don't finish touching me like you were, and I'm gonna tell him anyway," she said, low and sweet. She meant it too. Wasn't her fault her brothers were stupid, didn't pay attention, didn't know how to work around Pa and his rules and his threats. "You know I will, Lee. And he'll believe me," she said. 

He still looked like he wanted to hit her, but they both knew he wouldn't. "I won't pee on you again," she promised. 

It hadn't take that long for Lee to get her to where she wanted to be. Just with his fingers. His fingers stroking between her legs and rubbing and pinching on her nipple. She'd bit her own lip to keep from crying out, because she didn't want Pa to know. He would stop it and while she'd have gotten Lee in trouble if she'd had to, she'd much rather have him doing this to her and Pa none the wiser. 

And she had managed not to pee on Lee again. She'd also made him let her hold his penis in her hand. He hadn't wanted too, or so he said, but he'd been quick to pull it out of his pants when she asked. 

She's seen it before, of course. Seen Jarrod's and even Pa's once. She'd watched Lee put his in that girlthe second one with the blonde hair. The one that had damn near kicked it off until Lee tied her feet. 'Course him being the big stupid he was then hadn't been able to put it where he'd wanted to. Hadn't stopped him though. 

She didn't actually think a man's penis was supposed to go into that part of a woman's body. And then Lee getting all fussy because she'd peed a little bit on him? Her brother just made no sense at all at times. 

Most of the time, though, she'd just seen their parts when they were taking a piss. When they were all kind of soft and floppy. But Lee wasnt that day. His penis had felt hot and hard, too big for her to really hold easy in one hand, so she'd used both. 

She'd almost laughed at him again for the faces he'd made. Like he was in pain but kind of like he did when he was drunk. All flushed and not able to talk right. "That feels good, don't it, Lee?" she asked him and he'd just nodded, reached out and gripped her shoulders, started pulling her toward him. 

She hadn't known what he wanted at first until he'd reached down and held himself, pressed his penis against her mouth. 

She'd been madder then a wet cat, spitting and pushing back, kicking him when he didn't let go immediately. 

Then she'd dug her fingernails into his penis. That made him let go, and she had to quick, flush the toilet, so nobody would hear him yollering. "I'm not putting my mouth over your pee hole!" she'd hissed at him and slapped him hard before gathering up her clothes and her towels. 

They'd glared at each other for a couple of days afterward. 

But come Sunday, Lee was back, offering to bring her up more hot water for her bath, if she'd let him stay and watch. She'd said yes -- built them a truce. She didnt let him touch her again that dayand not long after thatwell, he stopped asking to watch her take her bath. And when she asked him, he only ever said he was busy. 

Made her mad. Her own fingers weren't nearly as good. 

She'd lay in her bed, thinking about the feller in the barn. He had nice big hands, bigger'n Lee's. Bigger than her Pa's even. And they did have calluses but not on his fingers, just his palms. Nicks and scratches on the back of his hands. She'd put her hand up against his and it had been so big there. It'd cover all of her breast and then some. 

He'd had soft lips too. A little dry when she'd touched them, but they'd left water for him in a bowl and she'd moistened them, felt them full and soft. 

She hadn't never kissed a boy, not even Lee. Nothing but her Pa's kisses on her cheeks, on her head when she went to bed. When she did good at shooting or like when she'd brought that deer down her self. A fine buck. Jarrod had made her a nice hilt for her very own knife with one of them antlers. They'd sold the rest -- folks getting all excited to have such a thing hanging on their walls. 

She thought maybe she'd like to kiss that feller the way she'd seen Jarrod kiss his woman. Seemed like she liked it. Seemed like she liked Jarrod too, right up until the end, talking sweet to him. She'd talked sweet to Missy too, when she'd bring food, but always with the, "Untie me, Missy. Please. It's hard to eat with one hand." 

Missy didn't think she'd really been all that nice. She'd grabbed for her once, grabbing for her hair. Missy had bit her hard, and the next time she brought her food, she'd had her knife. Wasn't right for her to be so mean when Missy was the one cooking her food and washing her clothes. Emptying her piss pot. Jarrod was supposed to but he kept saying he forgot. Hard to tell if he just didn't want to or if he really did forget. He did sometimes. Forgot things, words and such. Got confused. Always real grateful when Missy would help him out though. Brought her presents as thank-yous. 

He'd brought that girl presents too. Pretty dresses, made her necklaces and things -- he was good with his hands, was Jarrod. Good at carving pretty things. Made the best whistles. 

She'd asked Jarrod once, just once about the touching, after Lee wouldn't come around no more. He'd just shaken his head, told her no. Told her not to ask him again. "Ain't right, Missy. Pa would tell you it ain't right." 

Pa and his rules. Sometime it made her so mad. But it didn't do no good to get mad at Pa. Made it worse. And she could get him to do what she wanted most days anyway. Could ease him out of the worst moods, something the boys couldn't do. But Missy could, all she had to do was ask him about Momma -- get him talking about her and it was like he couldn't stay mad. Well, not as mad. 

He wasn't mad about this and Miss would hold him to his promise. And if she liked this feller well enough, maybe, _maybe_ Pa would let her keep him for a bit. They could hobble him like they'd done Jarrod's girl. And if PA was still worried, well, they could hobble him but good, nice deep cut just below the knee. Wouldn't kill him if they stitched it up fast enough, kept it clean while it healed, but he wouldn't be able to run. Didn't want them hurting his hands though, or messing up that pretty face. That soft skin. 

She closed her eyes and touched her own breast under her night dress, thought about his big hands touching her there, soft and gentle like Lee had. Drew her knees up, and touched herself, just close to her pee hole, rubbing hard, pinching herself till that shivery feeling came up again, making her tummy all warm and heavy. She liked that part, that feeling. Pressed a little harder, down where the babies would come out. She didn't know how babies came out of there, seemed too small, but that's what they said, thats what them pictures in those pamphlets Pa had brought home had showed her. 

That had been sweet of Pato sit her down when she started getting her blooding. He'd told her before, but it wasn't the same. Scared her at first, the blood there, on her sheets, on her dresses. Made for more washing, that was for damn sure. 

"Your Momma would have talked to you about this, if she were still alive," he'd said in that voice, the one that made her sad, made her pet his arm and his face. "Sometimes I think I should have found a womanhad a hand in raising you," he said. 

"You did just fine, Pa. You and the boys. I'm fine, see? And you don't need no other woman. I take care of you, don't I? Like Momma would? I do good, don't I?" 

He smiled at her, petted her hair, gotten her brush and brushed it out for her. Jarrod said he used to do that for Momma. "You do real fine, sugar. You're as good a girl as any man could hope for." 

That's when he'd promised. She could pick oneif she found one she liked. Only been a couple though, that the boys had brought home. Older fellers, mostly. Too rough, cussing and screaming and threatening and begging 'til she had to cover her ears. 

And then this one, with his soft hair and his sweet face. Maybe Jarrod had picked him for her. Lee never would. 

She twisted her hand a little, rubbed harder. So close. So close to something deep inside her. She pinched at her nipples until they hurt, felt the slick feel over her fingers. Not pee this time, this was different, silky smooth like spit but salty tasting. A flick of her thumb there and there and she had to bite her lip, whimpering 'cause it felt so good. Be his hand next time, his mouth on her maybe -- his mouth _there_. 

Just putting that picture in her head made her all wet and shuddering and twisting, that feeling she couldn't hardly ever get to crashing over her, leaving her feeling wrung out and shaky. 

She heard the rooster start up and made herself get up. Changed her night dress, feel the damp spot on her sheets. 

If she wanted to be the one to take her beau breakfast, she was going to have to get her chores done. Get breakfast made quick. Sweet talk Jarrod into letting her go with him. 

She put on her best blue dress, the one with the pretty stitching at the neck. The one with the pockets. Maybe she'd take that feller some of the berry jam she'd put up this year or some of the honey, to go with his biscuits. Be nice to him. 

She could be real nice to him. Let him know that if he were nice to her in returnwell 

Maybe she could keep him. 

He'd been alone. Wasn't right for folks to be alone, needed family. Maybe he would want to stay. 

End. 

06/16/2006 


	4. Supernatural: Family Ways Part Four - Vows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG13 for themes.  
> Warnings: Horror. Twisted and wrong.  
> Characters: Sam, Missy & Jarrod Bender  
> Slight AU for The Benders  
> Note: I was enabled. This however, is not for everyone. Heed Warnings, please.  
> (2,171 Words)
> 
>  _The characters and situations portrayed here are not mine, they belong to the WB. This is a fan authored work and no profit is being made. Please do not link to this story without appropriate warnings. Please do not archive this story without my permission._  
>  +++++

"Is he still breathing?" Jarrod wouldn't let her get too close. Not even as close as Pa had. 

He was still slumped on the bottom his cage. Looked like he hadn't moved at allwell, except maybe a little bit. Maybe rolled back some. His cheek wasn't on the bottom of the cage no more, now it was resting on his hand, the one she'd held. 

"I think so," Jarrod said. He passed his rifle to Missy and picked up the two pronged baling fork, using it to poke at the other one to get him to move back. "Let me finish with this one and I'll check." 

Missy held the gun steady, muzzle just barely through the gaps in the cage. That one stared at her, like trying to judge if she'd actually shoot. They always did, looked at her like she couldn't. She smiled at him and he looked a little more respectful. Good. 

Jarrod pushed the key in and hit the right button, already returning as the lock slid back. He never took his eyes off the man as he opened the door and set the plate and cup just inside, shoved the door shut and reset the lock 

That one glared at them both, then at the food, but he waited until Missy lowered the gun before reaching for it. He drank the water first then started on the biscuit and sausage. 

Missy rolled her eyes watching him eat. Was like one of the pigs, that one. And she'd took extra care with the biscuits this morning. 

Jarrod wasn't paying him no mind. He just squatted next to the other cage, reached in and pressed his fingers to young one's neck, cocking his head like Pa did when he was thinking. 

"He still alive?" she asked him. 

He sucked on his teeth for a second before grunting as he turned his hand, feeling under the boy's head. "He's breathing okay. Pulse is strong. Got a hell of a knot here, though. We can just leave his food." 

"No." Missy said, coming closer. "Wake him up." 

"What you mean wake him up?" 

She gave him a sour look. "I want to know his name." 

Jarrod shook his head and pulled his hands back. "What you want to know that for? Ain't no matter what his name is." 

"I still want to know. Come on, Jarrod. At least throw some water on him." 

"I ain't," he said. 

Missy swore softly and ran back to the switches, punching the button. She glared at Jarrod and shoved the rifle into his hands as the lock snapped open. Jarrod took it but he was none to happy. "Bad enough I brought you out here. Now, you said you just wanted to see him. You seen him. Put his food down and let's go," he said. 

"Wait," she said, sharp and Jarrod did, looking put out and a little wary, glancing toward the doors. 

"Missy, Pa catches us -- catches you--" 

"He won't care, none," she said and pulled the cage door open, grabbing the plate and crawling in. 

"What the hell are you-- Missy," then Jarrod was right back there, eyes wide enough that he'd look funny if she was in the mood to laugh, but he brought the gun up. "Missy! You stop right now. You know better!" he said and shoved the gun through the bars, muzzle pressing into the boy's chest. 

She stopped. Jarrod might shoot him if he so much as twitched and she didn't want that. She sighed. "I just want to talk to him. Please?" she asked. "I'll trade you," she offered. 

"Pa knows I let you do this, he'll kill me. You got something worth that?" he asked, but he did ask. 

She chewed on her lip. Had to be a big something. Something Jarrod really hated. "I'll lime the waste pit," she said, saw his gaze flicker. "For a whole month," she said almost holding her breath. Missy didn't much like that job either -- nasty, dirty work and the lime made her itch for days, made her skin all red. 

"A month? Just for talking to him?" he made it sound like she'd lost her mind. Maybe she had. 

"Whole month," she promised, then glanced at the boy. He hadn't moved, even with the muzzle of the gun pressing into his chest. "But only if he can talk. If you and Lee done messed him up so good, he cain't" 

"We just hit him hard" Jarrod said. "All right. A month. You come here, hold the gun while I make sure he cain't do nothing if he wakes. He gets hold of you and Pa will toss me in the waste pit," he grumbled but he waited until Missy backed out and took the gun. Sure she had him covered, he looked around and found rope. 

Took some doing, because Jarrod wouldn't go into the cage. But he grabbed the boy's arms, pulled them through the bars and tied them together then tied the ends again to the bars themselves. "You watch his feet," he warned and took up the gun, standing at the opening. 

The cage was tall enough that Missy could stand in it, but she had to stoop to get in, and she hitched her dress up. 

"What are you looking at?" Jarrod snarled and Missy turned around to see the other one watching her, mouth half full of food. Jarrod whacked the cage with the gun and the man scrambled back, but he was still watching her, watching Jarrod. 

She ignored him and got down on her hands and knees, and touched the boy's face, stroked over his cheek. He had a little bit of beard coming in, but it wasn't much and even with the stubble his cheek felt soft. He hitched a deeper breath and Missy took the hem of her dress and dipped it in the cup, getting it wet, using it to wipe at his face. 

Took him a minute but he twitched, made a sound like a groan but real quiet. She used her fingers next, getting them wet and splashing the water on him. 

That did it. He jerked a little, eyes fluttering open, body tensing and Missy backed up some, knew Jarrod had leveled the gun at him. She didn't want to get in the way of his aim. 

Took him a second to come full awake but when he did it was like a snap she could almost hear; something in his eyes changed -- they got wide for a moment when he jerked on the ropes, then narrowed. His eyes were a pretty brown-green color. He looked at her then at Jarrod with the gun for a long moment. Then at his hands, testing the knots but Jarrod tied good knots. He pulled himself up anyway, much as he could, hunched over. 

Daddy was right. He was a big feller, looked bigger sitting up, but he wasn't kicking at her, only testing his tied hands, then relaxing a little when he realized he couldn't get free. His eyes moved over the cage, over the open door and he tensed up again, but he looked at her, then down at the plate by her knees. "That for me?" he asked, kind of soft and quiet. His voice sounded rough and hoarse. 

She nodded and got down on her hands and knees, heard Jarrod shift behind her. "Uh huh. I brought it. Breakfast for you. You want it?" she asked him. 

He stared at the plate of food and she thought he got a little paler but the corners of his mouth turned up a little and he tugged at the ropes, licked his lips. "A little hard to eat with my hands tied, but thank you." 

Well, at least he was polite. That was good thing. "You been sleeping since the boys brought you here. I wanted to make sure you were okay. You got a name?" she asked him. "I'm Missy." 

He blinked at her then nodded. "Yeah. My name's Sam." His voice was kind of low. 

"Samlike Samuel in the bible?" 

"Like that, yeah. Missy, whatam I--why am I here?" he asked, then started coughing. 

Missy picked up the cup. "It's water," she said and he tensed, trying to stop the coughing and Missy came up on her knees. 

"Missy!" Jarrod hissed at her, but she reached out, grabbed Sam's shoulder and held the cup to his mouth so he could drink. Just a swallow, and he coughed again, clearing his throat, but it helped. She offered it again and he sipped deeper, careful and slow, and she smiled at him. 

"Thank you." he said, not taking any more. "Would you tell me why I'm here?" he asked her, eyes on her. 

"The boys brung you," she said. 

His eyes flickered over to Jarrod. "Boysthat guy there--" 

Missy glanced back. Jarrod was shifting, foot to foot, he was getting nervous. "That's Jarrod. He's the oldest." 

"Missy, that's enough!" Jarrod said, snapped at her. "Come on out of there. Right now." 

She thought about it, but she was pushing her luck, pushing Jarrod'd patience. She set the cup down carefully and backed up. "I gots to go now, Samuel," she said and cleared the door. Pushed it shut. He never took his eyes off her and she smiled at him. It startled him, when the lock set. 

She stayed there, and took the gun when Jarrod went over to untie the ropes from the bars. Jarrod loosened the knots enough for Samuel to get his hands free, then pulled the rope through. He took the gun back. 

"Time to go, Missy." 

She lingered though, watching Samuel rub at his wrists. "You should eat. I made those biscuits special. There's honey in the middle," she said. 

"Missy. Now," Jarrod said again and she backed away. "Git back to the house," he snapped at her and started up the path. 

He was still mad. Jarrod didn't get mad at her often but when he did he'd tell Pa what she'd done and that would make Pa mad. Stupid. She was the one that was stupid. She started to follow, but then she heard him, talking quiet-like to the other one. 

Samuel had a nice voice and nice eyes. Hadn't cussed or nothing. Hadn't even tried to grab Jarrod when he untied his hands. She might have gotten to see him smile more if Jarrod hadn't been so grouchy. 

_"I was looking for you. My brother is out there too"_

She chewed on her lip. Someone was gonna be looking for him. A brother. That wasn't good. She stared at her own brother's back, following him slowly. 

Samuel had family. Family that would hunt for him. She should tell Pa, but she knew what would happen. He might have promised her, but family came first. If he thought someone would be looking for Samuel, he'd kill him quick, wouldn't wait. He'd take the body someplace where it'd be found, away from them. Had happened before, when the boys weren't careful. 

She should tell him. 

She would. She would tell himjustwasn't her fault that Jarrod and Lee hadn't been careful. Figured they find something she wanted then mess it up so she couldn't have it. 

She would tell Pajust, justnot yet. It had been a day. Only a day. Wasn't nobody gonna find them this quick. Too far out. 

She liked his eyes, and his voice. Liked his quiet ways, that little smile he'd almost given her. All nice manners and quiet voice. 

She ran to catch up with Jarrod, caught his hand. "Thank you," she said and he stopped, looked down at her. "For letting me." 

"You got some strange ideas in your head, girl," he said but he squeezed her hand back. "Why you want to talk to him for?" 

She shrugged. "Just to see if he was nice. And he wasdidn't you think so, Jarrod?" 

Jarrod started laughing and she felt the annoyance bubble up inside, wanted to hit him. Laughing at her. But no, no. 

"I guess. But you cain't do that again, Missy. You know what they're like. They's dogs in a cage. Turn mean, just like that. You know that," he said seriously. 

He wasnt wrong. 

"I know. But" she hesitated. "It'll be all right, Jarrod. You wait and see." 

She'd need to talk to Pa, quick like. Needed to make sure he kept his word. If there was someone looking for Samuel she wouldn't be able to keep him after all. 

But she could still have him. She'd make sure Pa let her have him. Just for a little bit. Then she'd tell them. Pa would be mad. But if she was already in the carrying way, he'd only hit her a little bit. He never had hit momma when she was carrying. Not that she could remember. 

She'd tell him, just later. 

After. 

+++++++

06/18/2006  
 


	5. Supernatural: Family Ways Part Five - Nuptials

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Family Ways Part Five - Nuptials**   
>  **by Maygra**
> 
>  
> 
>  **Rating:** NC17, Mature Adult  
>  **Warnings:**  
>  Horror. Twisted and wrong. Issues of consent, graphic underage sex, rape, reference to incest and rape.  
> Characters: Sam, Missy, Pa (Neal), Lee & Jarrod Bender  
> AU for _The Benders_
> 
> Note: This story is not for everyone. Heed Warnings, please.
> 
> (5,221 Words)
> 
>  _The characters and situations portrayed here are not mine, they belong to the WB. This is a fan authored work and no profit is being made. Please do not link to this story without appropriate warnings. Please do not archive this story without my permission._  
>  +++++

They'd been fighting all afternoon. Lee and Pa -- Lee the only one who'd ever dare raise his voice to Pa like that. Pa yelling back. Jarrod had took himself out to livestock barn, shoveling manure, fixing things that they'd let slip. 

Missy sat on the back porch shelling peas, half-tempted to go down and help Jarrod out, but if Lee won this fight -- 

He'd never won before, but Pa wasn't all that happy about any of it. He'd said he'd keep his word, but he was already mad at her. Mad at Jarrod, mad at both of them and now, the way things were going, he'd be mad at Lee afore long. 

When Pa was mad at ever-body, it was never a good thing. 

She rubbed her hand on her cheek. She could still feel his hand, wondered if her skin was still red. He'd only slapped her though. Hard enough to make her neck hurt but he hadn't used his fist. Told her she could take care of the waste pit all through summer for doing what she'd done. 

He'd hit Jarrod a lot harder than he'd hit her. Hit him twice until his mouth was bleeding. 

She was surprised Jarrod had waited to say anything. But he hadthat night she'd known why. Knew why Jarrod didn't hit back. Lee would've and Pa would beat him bloody for daring so. But Jarrod just took it. He'd done wrong. He knew it, Missy knew it. Her fault. He hadn't even looked at her. 

But he'd done it himself, not telling Pa. 'Fraid if he did, Pa'd call off the hunt. He would have too. Might have been mad enough to send Samuel out instead if Jarrod had said. 

For once it was her and Jarrod had Pa so upset. She felt bad about that. She did. He'd been so happy last night, laughing with the boys, proud of 'em because they'd given that Jenkins feller a good run. Really, they'd left him plenty of chances to escape and he'd just run himself in circles. 

Pa's good mood hadn't lasted past breakfast. 

She worried at her lip. She hadn't told Pa what she'd heard Samuel say. Not yet. If Pa changed his mindwell, it wouldn't matter none. If he wasn't going to keep his promise, didn't matter if Samuel died quick or got to run. Quick would be better. She'd rather he got it quick and not quick like that Jenkins feller last night. 

She thought that might be what was making Lee so ornery today. Too fast. Over too fast. Hadn't been hardly any fun at all, he said. 

"Man left tracks like a herd of cows," Jarrod said when they drug him back in, hung him over the rail in the yard to let the blood stop flowing. She'd still be cleaning it off the kitchen floor, but not so bad if they let him bleed out. 

Been noisy too. She and Pa had sat right here last night, listening. Even with the rain falling, they could hear him, hear Jarrod and Lee calling out, laughing. Made Pa smile to hear them laughing. She'd nudged him. "You coulda' gone with them," she said and he grinned at her. 

"NawI hunted the last one. Let 'em have their fun. Three on one, that's not huntthat's just herding. Might as well take him down to the slaughtering shed and do him there with the three of us after him." 

She'd leaned into him, listening to the boys laughing. Everybody in a good mood. 

"Daddy," she said quietly just after the man stopped screaming. Wouldn't take long for the boys to bring the carcass back. They'd want whiskey and music on the phonograph. They'd bring up the heart, offer it to Pa. Respect he said. And Pa would get out the camera. That fancy Polaroid one with the pictures that showed up like magic. "I slept on it and thought about it. About the other one." She almost said his name, but he didn't need to know that yet. Not yet. "Did you?" 

He looked at her, reached over and pushed her hair back. "I did. I thought on it most of last night. Some more today. You sure about this, sweetheart? Ain't no need to rush such things." 

"I'm sure," she said, wrapping her fingers around his arm. "Best now. Spring'll be over soon. Could have me a baby before harvest. Have you a grandchild by Christmas." 

"Baby's are hard work." 

"Ain't afraid of that." 

"I know. I know, sugar," he said patting her arm. "You're already a hard worker. You'll make a fine momma. But you knowdont always take the first time. A man's seed. Now, your momma, she caught fast. But not every time. Soyou know, I don't want you to be disappointed. We can wait a bit. You know where you are in your blooding? 'Cause when the blood stops, that's the sign." 

"Yessir." 

He'd hugged her to him then and she'd snuggled up close. He smelled of the shine he'd already been sipping, smelt of woodsmoke and coal oil. It was sunk deep in his coat, in his clothes and his hair. She liked them smells. 

"All right, then. But they's going to belike the boys and their women, girl. I know you like him but you can't trust 'em, the ones from out there," he said. "They can speak sweet and be mean. They's not part of us. That one -- like as not, he knows what he was brought here for. What he thinks he was brought here for. That's going to make him scared. And scared men is dangerous, sobe like the boys with their women. Only the boys will be there, you hear?" 

"Pa!" 

"Hush. I'll keep my word, but I promised your momma I'd keep you safe and that promise comes first, you understand me?" 

Pa wasn't going to budge on this. Not with that tone. She nodded. "I understand." 

"All right, Now the boys won't be _there_ , but they's going to be close. Real close. Butit can still be nice. It'll be nice as I can make it, Missy. You'll use me and your momma's room." 

She knew her eyes were wide as saucers. Her own bed was hard and narrow, and the cage would bewell, she didn't want her first time to be in the barn, no matter how nice Lee said it could be. 

Pa wasn't looking at her. He was staring out, listing to the boys get closer. "I'll talk to the boys in the morning. Tonight's for them, for their hunt, but come breakfastI'll tell them. And you need to" he patted her arm again. "Might hurt some the first time, Missy. You're a small woman. Big enough for this but stillmight hurt some. You need to be ready for that. And you need to watch him, even with the boys. He could hurt you thenjust to be mean." 

"I'll be careful, Daddy," she said, a little confused. Didn't hurt when she touched herself; felt real good. But, if Pa said so 

She felt bad now, with Pa and Lee yelling, Jarrod off sulking and licking his wounds. The boys had been so happy last night. Pa too. They'd put on the music, gotten out the whiskey, taken pictures. It was like a birthday or Christmas. 

And when Pa had cut her a little sliver of heart-meat, he'd winked at her. Winked! "Good heart builds a strong heart," he'd said, making her blush so much Lee had noticed, wanted to know what it was, but Pa had that gleam in his eyes. They had a secret him and her. Just for the night. But right then, he'd looked at her all happy and proud. Best thing she could do for him ever was to give him a grandson. Someone else he could have a hand in raising -- another line in the family so their ways wouldn't die out. 

That was a lot to carry, a lot of trust he put in her. She thought she might explode from the responsibility of it. Thought she might die from the shame of lying to her pa. 

That lie was out now. Part of it, but she was still holding the other secret. The one she hadn't shared. 

Pa and Lee had stopped yelling but she could hear Lee stomping through the house. He busted out the door and nearly knocked her off the porch. He glared at her. His nose was bloody and his cheek was swelling. He sucked on his teeth, used his tongue to clear some blood from his lip. "Pa wants to talk to you," he said and then stepped off the porch, yelling for Jarrod. 

She got up and went inside quick, found Pa in his favorite chair in front of the fireplace. He was still mad. 

"Lee said you wanted to see me, Daddy," she said quiet. 

He looked up at her face, frowning. Looked like Lee had got a hit in anyway. Stupid boy. 

"If you'd'a askedYou shoulda' asked me, Missy." 

"I'm sorry, Pa. I am. I just wanted to" 

"Be quiet. I dont tolerate you lying to me, girl. Not you. Not your brothers." 

Missy nodded but even so, not saying nothing wasn't the same as lying was it? He hadn't asked, hadn't even known she'd gone to the barn with Jarrod until he said something. 

"I'm sorry." 

"I don't want your sorries," he said getting up and catching her chin in his hand, jerking her head up. "'Cause I know you, girl. You going to expect me to keep my word, because I do. I always do. But you tell me why I should when you're sneaking around, disobeying me. Twice now! I let the first one slide cause you stayed back...but you got in the cage with him. Talked to him, without asking me. You don't talk to nobody unless I say so. How many times have I told you that?" 

"A lot. A lot of times, Daddy. Pa, Pa, I'm sorry. I just -- I was just" she didn't try to jerk her head away. "I just wantedI want what you had with Momma. You talk abut her all the time and I don't hardly remember her but she made you real happy. I just wantedwantI want to be happy like that. Like you and momma." 

His grip on her chin got easier and he blinked at her, looked away, dropping his hand. 

"I've spent my whole life keeping you and your brothers safe, kept us together, kept this family fed and clothed. Only thing I ever asked any of you was to do as I say. You ever heard me ask you -- any of you -- to do anything else?" he demanded. 

Made her want to cry when Pa got like this. So disappointed, in her, in her brothers. She felt so bad, she really did but she didn't think she asked for much either, or didn't fuss much when she didn't get it. Not getting to hunt, not getting to go into town. It wasn't fair, none of it. "Pa, I was wrong. I'm sorry. And it's my fault Jarrod didn't say nothing," she said even though it weren't entirely true. Jarrod had wanted his hunt and got it. Was only fair she got what she wanted too, exceptshe had to handle this just right. Had to. No one had come looking yet. Maybe they wouldn't. Might be Samuel's brother didn't even know where to look. 

She should tell him. She should. But if she did, that'd be the end of it. Maybe forever. She'd shoulda told him yesterday. Too late. Too late now. Maybe for everything, maybe unlessif he changed his mind, she wouldn't need to tell. "Daddy, I did wrong. I know it. So, I won't hold you to your promise. I won't," she said. 

For a minute she thought she'd made a mistake. Pa's face got dark, got redder. She wanted to step back but she held her ground, met his eye. 

"Ain't up to you if I keep my word or not," he said finally. "I keep my word, girl. You ever known me not to?" 

"No, sir," she said. 

He nodded at her. "All right then. But you hear me, girl. You'd best hope you catch quick. And you stay away from him unless I say you can go. I catch your down there with him again, without me knowing and I will lift your dress and whip you bloody. And I will shoot him in the head, whether you catch yourself with child or not. You understand me?" 

"I understand, Daddy. Only when you say." 

He stared hard at her and she stared back. Had to. She hadn't ever lied to her Pa. Not like this. He ever found out and he'd do more than whip stripes on her back. 

"All right. You finish your chores. You go up to your room after supper. You dont come upstairs before then, you don't go down to the barns except to feed the stock and you make sure that waste pit is limed good. We got bones to get rid of. Now git." 

She didn't hesitate. She just ran. 

All day, she stayed quiet, stayed out of his way, out of Jarrod and Lee's. Did her chores without a word. She put extra lime in the pit which was hard because it was wet and the lime clumped up, then she spent a long time in the stream, rinsing her arms over and over, and her clothes, until she was shivering. 

Supper was quieter than usual. Dinner after a hunt, usually everybody was still in a good mood, still talking about it. They didn't talk about nothing but what work Jarrod had gotten done, that the sow was close to farrowing. Missy offered up that they'd need more lime. Lee was more sullen than usual. 

When they finished, Missy started to clear the table but her Pa stopped her. "You go on up to your room now, girl. You wait for me there, you hear me?" 

It took him forever to come upstairs, but she heard him. Could hear the boys too, clomping up the stairs. Lee was cursing, but she thought she heard Jarrod laugh. Sun had set by the time Pa finally came to her door, carrying a lamp, setting it on her dresser. In his hands he held a package wrapped up in newspaper. 

He waved her to the bed, and she sat, fidgeting, until he sat beside her, gave her the bundle. "This was your momma's. She didn't wear it but once or twice, and I was to give it to you, when you was a little older," he said and Missy peeled back the paper. 

It came out of Momma's chest. She could smell the cedar and camphor, but not so strong, like Pa had let it air. The fabric was thin, but soft. Part of the hem and the pretty lacy stitching there had rotted but the rest of it felt soft under her fingers. It was all pale blue with fancy stitchin' on the neck, along the hem. Store bought, because there was a little tag in the back. 

"Woman likes to feel pretty for her man, Lida always said, " he said. 

"Oh, PaPa!" she said and flung her arms around his neck. He held her a little, patted her back. "Go on. Put it on. Your brothers are getting your beau ready for you." 

She didn't think twice, kicking off her shoes and shedding her worn jumper. Didn't even hardly notice when her Pa looked away then back as she shimmied into the dress. It was a little long for her but the skirt was full. Fit a little snug across her breasts but she unbuttoned it a bit and that helped and she liked the way the soft fabric and fancy stitching rubbed on her nipples. 

Lord, she wasn't even touching herself and already she felt that heat in her belly, heavy through her girl parts. 

"Bring me your brush, girl," he said and she did, sat a down while he pulled the heavy brush through her hair over and over. When it was slick and untangled, he pulled it into three heavy strands, braiding it like he did ropes, tying off the end with a strip of ribbon he pulled from the bundle. 

He got up with her, guided her to the tarnished mirror over her dresser. 

She didn't look like herself at all with her hair pulled back, and that blue dress making her skin look paler than it was. 

"I look like Momma," she said quiet, eyes wide. 

"You do, girl. You look just like her at your age. Strong like her. Smart like her. You remember that. You remember that there wasn't nothing more important her than this family, her family. You keep that in mind." He laid his hands on her shoulders. "Someday, I'm gonna be gone, Missy-girl. That's the way it works. Better I go out on a hunt, than just getting old. But, this family.you're going to be the one who keeps this family together. Your brothers are good boys, but we both know they ain't smart as you. Jarrod especially. But between you and Jarrod, you can keep Lee in line. Keep him from hunting to many, too often." 

"Yes, Daddy," she said and turned around to face him. "I won't disappoint you, Pa. You'll see. I might like this feller, I do. But I don't love him like I do you. Like I love Jarrod and even Lee, mean as he is," she said and that made Pa smile. 

"All right, then. You go on. Boys should have him ready. You remember what I said. Might hurt some. There's grease. Jarrod's got it. He gets mouthy, Lee'll gag him. If he behaves himself, then we'll see aboutaboutwe'll see," he said and sat on her bed. 

"Ain't you coming, Pa?" 

He shook his head. "No. No, I'll wait here for you. You justmight hurt some at first, but your momma, wasn't nothing she liked better'n be with me like that. It's what women were made for, pleasing their men, taking back, giving 'em sons and daughters." 

"I'll remember. Thank you, pa," she said and took a deep breath. That warm feeling in her stomach turned to butterflies and nervousness, but she caught up her dress and headed down the hall. 

Jarrod was there, outside Pa's room and he looked at her, up and down. "Missy, you are pretty as a picture." 

She grinned up at him and the butterflies settled, only to come back again when Jarrod opened the door. 

She didn't hardly recognize the room. Looked smaller with the curtains tacked up from the ceiling, hanging down around the bed. There had to be six lamps in the room, making it bright like the rooms downstairs where the electricity ran. 

She knew her mouth was hanging open and she wanted to cry. 

Her Pa had done this for her. Made this all pretty. And she'd lied to him, keeping things back from him. 

She stopped. She should tell him. If Samuel's brother came looking 

"What you waiting for, girl?" Lee said and pulled back the curtain. 

Oh. 

Samuel's eyes were wide as hers. They had him tied to the bed, one of Pa's quilts half covering him but he was bare under there, chest and legs and arms. He had a new bruise on his cheek; looked like his lip was swelling some. 

"You can't be serious!" Samuel said, pulling at the ropes holding his wrists and ankles to the iron bedstead. "God, you can'tMissyyou're just a girl. You're just a child." 

For some reason that made her mad, almost as mad as if he'd called her something uglier. "I ain't," she said and hiked her skirt up to get on the bed. "I been a woman full on for almost a year," she said and flicked the covers back a bit. He had scars on him, across his side, on his arms. Right under the nipple on the left side. But his skin was brown, a little smudged with dirt but smooth. No hair on him or hardly none. Not like on Lee and her daddy. 

"Missy, you don't want to do this. I don't want this" 

She stopped, stared at him. "What? I ain't pretty enough for you?" 

He swallowed and shook his head. "Missy. You are just a little girl. This is wrong." 

"My momma was only a year older when she got with my Daddy." 

She tugged the blankets back, caught Lee looking in and glared at him, snatched the curtain closed. 

He was bigger than Lee. Was soft too. The butterflies came back but she reached out anyway, touching him, felt him twitch and he groaned softly, tried to pull his feet free. 

"Missy. Your mothershe loved your Daddy, right?" 

"Uh huh," she said and touched him again, using her whole palm and watched his skin flush. His penis was soft, the skin getting smoother when she touched him. Just like Lee hadgetting hard. 

"But you don't love me and I don't--" he sucked in a breath when she curled her fingers around him and squeezed, using her other hand to pet, touch the big swollen head of him. 

"I might could," she said. Fascinated and pleased that it took so little. She looked up at him, and he had his eyes squeezed shut, hand gripping the bed frame. She let him go and crawled up, touching his face. His eyes opened. "Maybe. If you stayed. I might could. You might love me back. It's a good farm. Pa takes good care of us" she said and bent her head, just brushing her lips on his cheek. "Always room for family." 

He shook his head. "Missy, I have a fam--" she pressed her mouth over his, hard. His eyes got wide and he tried to pull away. 

He was going to say it. He would. If Jarrod or Lee heard him 

She pulled back and had to use both hands to cover his mouth and leaned down. "You tell them" she said soft and low. "They will kill you." She stared at him, watched his eyes flick to the curtains, then back to her. 

She eased her hand back. "Won't they anyway?" he asked just as soft, but his eyes were narrowed, looked harder than he had before. 

She smiled. "Not if you are nice to me," she said and leaned over to kiss him again. He jerked his head away. 

Pa had been right. They could get mean. She didn't much like the look on his face. And she'd wanted him to kiss her back, wanted to know what that felt like. 

She moved over him, hiking her dress up again to straddle his chest, felt his bare skin on her private parts and got that little thrill. 

She tried to remember everything she'd watched Lee and Jarrod do, things them girls of theirs had done to them -- things she'd tried on herself when she could. Her fingers raked over his chest, not hard, but leaving white lines. Watched his breath catch, a dark nipple get a little rise to it. Not so different then, she though and rocked against him. Not enough pressure, not enough of him touching her. She unbuttoned her dress, pulled it off her shoulders and let it pool around her waist. 

He looked at her then closed his eyes and turned his head away again. 

She blew out a breath. This was harder than she thought. She looked back and his penis was all soft again, not as dark laying there on his thigh. 

Lee liked it when his women touched with their breasts, but if Samuel wouldn't even look at her 

Didn't matter none. She scooted back some more, on his legs, and gripped his penis, pushing it up on his belly and using her body to hold it there. He tensed up again, muscles straining in his shoulders. His wrists were starting to get red. He'd make himself bleed if he didnt stop. 

"Missy, you all right?" Jarrod asking, kind of soft. She swore she heard Lee snicker. 

"Yes. I'm fine!" she said, and leaned over to grab the edge of the curtain. Better be Jarrod. She'd punch Lee in the nose if he was laughing at her. 

Jarrod looked surprised when she pulled the curtain back, more surprised when his eyes dropped to her bare breasts. "Pa said you had grease. What do I do with it?" 

He handed her the tub, the faded blue label half peeling off. "Y..you put it on him. On his penis, get him good and slick. That'llget him hard hard enough for--" 

"Maybe he don't like girls," Lee said in that gaspy voice that Missy knew. He _was_ laughing at her. She grabbed the tub and twisted around, pulling back the curtains on the other side. 

Lee was still laughing but he about half stopped, looking at her breasts like Jarrod had. "You'd best stop that before I get Pa," she hissed at him. 

Lee stopped laughing and glared, then took a breath, looked up at Samuel's face. "That the way this is, boy? You don't like girls?" 

"I don't have sex with children," Samuel said through gritted teeth. "She's your sister." 

"Yes, she is. And she done told you she ain't no child. Missy, you want him to give you what you want, you're gonna have to touch him. Best you do it with your mouth. Works faster. " 

"My mouth?" she said eyeing him. She wasn't sure she'd seen them girls do that with their mouth and she hadn't forgotten Lee trying to put his in her mouth neither. . 

"He's right, Missy," Jarrod said but he didn't stick his head in. "Feels real good for a feller, then you can grease him." 

Jarrod wouldnt lie to her about this, so she set the tub down and backed up some more. 

"You dont have to take all of him," Lee told her as she leaned down. 

Samuel made a strangled noise as her mouth touched him, jerked his hips back and to the side, trying to buck her off. 

Lee came right into the bed with her, but up on the side, one big hand pressing up against Samuel's throat. "I ain't sitting in here all night, waiting for you to get in the mood, boy," he said and squeezed Samuel's throat in warning. "Do it, Missy," Lee growled at her. 

She bent her head again. 

Lee only had to warn him twice more, and he left bruises on Samuel's skin. But they was right. Mouth and hands and Samuel was hard as Lee had been in her hand that day. Got harder still when she rubbed a lot of the grease over the thick length of him. 

Took her a second to figure out the rest, because usually Lee and Jarrod was on top of the girls, but she supposed it didn't matter, as long as the right part got into the right place. 

She thought Samuel might have started praying when she fit herself right up against him, and grease or no grease, it burned, felt like it would stretch her wide enough to tear something. She found herself staring at Lee, watching his face instead of Samuel's. 

"That's it, girl. You won't break. You just ain't used to it." 

She was pretty sure something did tear, it felt like it anyway. Her eyes burned a little but touching her breast helped, blossoming new pain as she pinched herself;  distraction easing off on the other. Then Samuel moved like he couldn't help it. Just a jerk of his hips, a sound in the back of his throat. She pushed down, felt that other feeling, the one she liked, start up. She wriggled a little and felt some of the ache ease, then leaned back, felt the pressure there. 

She pushed her finger there, where he fit into her and rubbed, got that shivery feeling and rocked. 

"Oh, God, please. Don't" Samuel wasn't doing more than whispering and she didn't know why or how he kept trying to hold himself so still. 

"Pull up a bit, Missy," Lee coached her, his voice all low and deep. He was still close enough to deal with Samuel if need be, but he was watching her, his face flushed, one hand rubbing between his legs. 

She did what he said, found that warm feeling wash through her and dropped back down. Pushed up again. 

Wasn't long before she felt Samuel moving with her; jerky, still not like she'd seen Lee do. She rubbed along her pee hole, then down to where his penis sank into her, rubbing the base and felt Samuel shudder under her. 

Was her making him do that. She did it again and watched him dig his head back into the bed. He had blood on his mouth, on his arms from the ropes. 

He couldn't hold his seed back from her. She felt him there, jerking and twisting, quick and sharp,  the wet hot feel inside, the shiver that overtook him, the sound that escaped him. She was close herself but she needed something more. Wanted something, but she could feel him going soft inside and he was breathing fast and hard. 

She rocked against him harder, using her fingers, rubbing and twisting until that feeling came, hit her hard and made her make a little sound she didn't know she could. 

Her thighs hurt and her back ached a little as she pulled herself up, wondering if she should worry about how much of his seed was escaping her, but she was too tired. She stretched out, Samuel's skin all warm and sweaty and she though maybe Lee pulled the blanket up around her. Or maybe it was Jarrod. Had to be. 

Wrapped up in the blanket and his arms and he carried her out. She thought she heard Lee talking to Samuel, might have heard Samuel say something back, sharp and hard, and then it was cut off, muffled, bed springs squeaking. 

Jarrod toted her all the way down the hall. 

She knew that scent, woodsmoke and coal oil and her Pa held her just like he had when she was little. "Jarrod, There's hot water on the stove. You bring it up. She's going to be sore." 

"Yes, Daddy, "Jarrod said. 

"Where's Lee?" 

"Watching that feller 'til I come back to help haul him back to the barn." 

"All right. You get the water for your sister first." 

Her pa crooned to her, rocked her a little and Missy rubbed at her belly, wondering if there was a baby in there already, just starting. She thought there might be. Seemed like anything she had to work that hard for ought to be her due. 

Her pa eased her into a bath, just for a little bit, then carried her back to his room. Samuel was gone, but the bed still smelled like him, was still warm, with that sharp scent he'd given off. She fell asleep wondering if her baby would have her Pa's eyes or maybe Samuel's green ones. 

She found herself  worrying about what color Samuel's brother's eyes were. 

In her dreams they were green and angry. 

In her dreams her Pa's eye were dull and empty. 

End. 

06/18/2006 

++++++ 


	6. Supernatural: Family Ways Part Six - Honeymoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Family Ways Part Six - Honeymoon**   
>  **by Maygra**
> 
>  
> 
> Rating: Mature Adult for themes,  
> Warnings: Horror. Twisted and wrong.  
> Reference to rape  
> Characters: Pa (Neal) Bender, Sam  
> Slight AU for _The Benders_
> 
> Note: I was enabled. This however, is not for everyone. Heed Warnings, please.
> 
> (1,778 Words)
> 
>  _The characters and situations_ portrayed here are not mine, they belong to the WB. This is a fan authored work and no profit is being made. Please do not link to this story without appropriate warnings. Please do not archive this story without my permission.  
>  +++++

His Daddy used to tell them about his great great granddaddy coming to this land and breaking it. Clearing the trees, plowing the earth. Making the first house here out of logs he cut, first by himself and later adding on with the help of his sons's hands. Had another name then, something Neal couldn't hardly remember and never could pronounce. That old log house, what was left of it, was still standing, still used for storing winter grains and keeping the still out of sight. 

Other folks knew his great great granddaddy not by his name but because he'd put his farm at the bend of the river. Folks of the Bend, later just the Benders. The river had been dammed someplace further upstream, slowing it to a creek, then later to just the stream that flowed through the lower pasture. 

Been his great great granddaddy who had first hunted not just game, but people. Thieves his Daddy said. Come after the livestock, after the crops, after the landwhite, injun, blacksall of 'em one time or t'other. Great great grandaddy's first wife had been the woman of one of them, folks after his food. Would have killed him and taken it all. 

That woman had given him four sons and two daughters before she died. Men weren't hard to kill but they sure were harder to hunt than just about anything. Was a rare deer or elk that turned back on you, even bear, wolves, once they knew they were prey, they'd be running to get free. 

Men though; men were trickier. He could remember his first hunt, with his daddy, after a feller who damn near got away. Been tricky-clever that one, went to ground, covered his tracks. Waited. Doubled back. 

That one had managed to kill his uncle Dan before his Daddy had finally brought him down with a crossbow bolt through the knee and another through the neck. 

Weren't too many folks any more looking to take what they had. Now and again, maybe. Better to stop a thief than turn him over to the law, especially a law that looked to protect criminals more'n it did people protecting what was their own. 

He moved quiet through the house, listening to the boys snoring. Checking up on Missy for a long minute where she was curled up on his bed, in his quilts. Hard to tear his eyes away, she looked so much like her mother. 

He did though. Making sure the lamps were out. One of these days, he and the boys would run some lines up here, get electricity to the second floor, patch those holes at the back of the house where the water was coming in the room that had been nursery to all his children. 

House need more work done to it than he could find ways to make happen. Couldn't trade with none of them big building supply places nor any of the smaller hardware stores. Nobody would take smoked meat or venison for goods and supplies any more. They all wanted cash. 

He'd grown up thinking everything he'd ever need, everything his children would ever need he could get by his own hands. He could fix an engine of pretty much any kind once upon a time. Made up for what he couldn't grow or raise on his own. 

Wasn't so easy anymore. The boys had taken to scavenging; scrap metal, them boxes that held clothes for the poor. Missy could sew a button or fix a tear in a shirt but Lida had died before she'd taught her anything but the simplest of stitching. 

Last couple of fellers before Missy's beau had had cash enough on them to see them through the winter, but pretty much everyone carried them plastic cards now and those weren't even good for lighting fires. 

He hadn't had a bull for going on five years now. Cows were getting old with no new calves coming. Like to be the last litter of piglets Dada had even if he had a boar to mate her with. 

Werent no other farms left that he could work a deal with, like it used to be. Town was creeping outward. Had lights out on the state road now. 

He knew the boys sometimes went into town, got their money from drunks, or breaking into closed up stores, but they weren't smart those two. They'd get caught if they didn't find some other way. 

It had stopped raining but it was still dripping, low mist rolling over the ground. 

Might bemight be -- Jarrod said Missy's beau -- this Samuel -- was real well spoken. Clothes were worn, but had them fancy labels. His boots had been new. Newer than Jarrod's. Fit him just fine. 

He checked the cabinet, pulled a gun and loaded it. He didn't think the boy would try anything, but he hadn't lived this long hunting men by being stupid. He got his slicker and eased out of the house, carrying a lit lantern. 

The barn was dark and quiet and dry. He'd laid most of the timbers here himself, with his daddy and brothers and uncles. 

All gone. He didn't even know where to, most of them. 

He hooked the lantern on a post close to the cage, saw the boy blink at him, light catching his eyes, on his skin, curled up in the corner, shaking. Was cold in here and they hadn't given him his clothes back. Idiots. Didn't leave stock out in the cold and people didn't even have the protection of fur or hair. 

He looked around and found the boy's clothes -- most of them, what Lee hadn't taken. He wadded up the jeans and t-shirt. Shoved them through the bars. 

The boy reached for them, wary and cautious but not afraid. Kind of sullen quiet but he watched Neal, even while he pulled his jeans on. Moved pretty stiff, from cold, from the bruises he could see on his skin. Fresh ones. Lee's doing. 

Neal watched him as he pulled the shirt on, the dark shirt and the steady lamplight showing up the bruises on his throat, scrapes on his wrists. Dressed again, he sat back down, back to the cage, staring at Neal. Nothing showed on his face, but his jaw was set, eyes hard. Neal knew disgust and hate on a man's face when he saw it. 

"You got anybody pay to get you back, boy?" he asked. 

He pulled out the flask and found the cup from the boy's breakfast, splashed it half full and carefully pushed the cup through the gaps in the bars. The boy didn't move until Neal was sitting back on a hay bale, well out of reach. 

He sniffed at it first, took a cautious sip. Neal could tell it burned but the boy held it, let it settle. "Anybody looking to get you back?" 

The boy eyed him, sipped again. "There's no money. What I had, you've already taken," he said. 

Neal took a mouthful, held it in his mouth until it burned, swallowed slow, taking in a deep breath. Was only a thought, maybe not a bad one, if they could figure out someone who had some money. Somebody who had folks that would pay to get them back. Maybe some kids -- easier to handle. Parents went crazy about their kids, although he didn't know what they was thinking. Letting 'em run around, giving 'em no chores to do but to go to school. Dressing like they did. Girls especially. Girls younger than Missy. 

"Why are you doing this?" 

He'd about half-forgot the boy was there. He looked at him. The boy was still sitting there, knees up, cup held between his hands. He was an odd one. Should have been mad or scared or something. Mostly he looked patient. Waiting. Have to watch him. Tricky-clever, this one, he'd bet. 

"It's our way, boy. I'm sure your people got your ways. This'n's ours. You'll get your chance." 

"Nono," he said, low and soft. "She's your daughter." 

Neal stared at him and the boy stared back. He was mad, Neal realized. Quiet mad. "She took a shine to you." 

A bitter smile twisted the boy's lips and he shoved a hand through his hair. Too-long hair. "She's a child. God, your own daughterYour son take a shine to me too?" he spat out 

Something in the way he said it, like he'd done wrong by Missy, by Lee, made something dark twist up inside Neal. He was up before he knew it. Heard the boy's cup drop and spatter as he pulled the bolt back on the rifle, shoving the muzzle through the bars. The boy tensed up, but he didn't move. Weren't no place to go. "You judging me, boy? Me and mine? You think you got the right to judge me with your fancy words and your fancy clothes an' your better'n me attitude? You think it was easy watching my girl give herself to the likes of you? Just 'cause you spoke nice to her? Give up what a woman can only offer once to a man and know you'd never do right by her?" 

"You brought me here. Your sons," he said low and even. "I didn't ask for this or for her. And if I was going to do right by her, I sure as hell wouldn't leave her with you." 

Neal's finger tightened on the trigger, wanting to spatter the boy's brains all over the cage. The boy didn't move, didn't shift his gaze. 

Just a squeeze. That's all it would take. 

He pulled the gun back slowly. "I hope you run good, boy. Run hard. You got guts I'll give you that much." 

He picked up the lamp and left him in darkness. 

House was empty. Looked abandoned and gray. The mud below him sucked at his feet. 

His land. His ways. Standing on the ground his great great granddaddy had claimed. His kin were buried on this land. His Lida. His momma and Daddy. 

Man needed a reason to keep living. Needed something to keep him feeling alive. He glanced back at the barn. 

That boy was smart. Not easily rattled. Not stupid. 

Maybe this time, he'd make the boys sit the hunt out. Maybe this time, he'd let Missy join him -- make sure she hadn't had her head turned by his pretty words and his soft skin. 

Not family. If Missy was caught with child, the child would be one of them. But this boy 

This boy was just meat. And Neal was feeling hungry. 

++++++ 

06/16/2006  



	7. Supernatural: Family Ways Part Seven - Til Death Us Do Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Family Ways Part Seven - Til Death Us Do Part**   
>  **by Maygra**
> 
> Rating: PG  
> Warnings: Horror. Twisted and wrong.  
> Characters: Sam, Missy Bender  
> Slight AU for _The Benders_
> 
> Note: I was enabled. This however, is not for everyone. Heed Warnings, please.
> 
> (2,290 Words)
> 
>  _The characters and situations portrayed here are not mine, they belong to the WB. This is a fan authored work and no profit is being made. Please do not link to this story without appropriate warnings. Please do not archive this story without my permission._ +++++

She'd been right about his eyes. Angry. Green. Greener than Samuel's. 

Dangerous. She's seen her brothers fight -- mostly with each other. That this feller nearly took them both down, probably would have if Pa hadn't hit him. 

Jarrod didn't seem to think he was dangerous. Admired that he fought as well as he did. Jarrod just wasn't that smart sometimes. 

She didn't like him. He was bitter mouthed -- insulting Pa, insulting them. 

He sounded a lot like Lee. Smart mouthed, not knowing when to shut up. 

She wished Pa had left her with a gun. 

That first shot, she thought the brother would break something the way he struggled. Took him a minute to realize there weren't a second shot. A second bullet. 

Took them all a minute to realize it. 

She thought about cutting his throat, using the kitchen axe to bust open the gun cabinet. Too quiet for too long and she knew something was wrong. 

She should have told Pa Samuel had a brother. 

She'd been almost relieved when it was that lady cop that showed up, by herself. They'd come before, looking for missing people, missing dogs, missing kids. Asking about things that didn't have nothing to do with them. Pa was usually polite. Once he'd even helped them look for a missing girl, tracked through the woods...they thought she'd been picked up hitchhiking. 

Missy saw her picture but she never saw the girl. Not on the farm. Not in any of the barns. She was real pretty. She saw Pa looking at Lee but he never asked him, far as Missy knew, and Lee never said nothing about it. They never did find her. 

That school lady had some around a few times, until Pa told her he'd sent Missy off to live with her Aunt Shirl. She didn't think the lady believed him, but it didn't matter none. She stopped coming around. 

The lady cop didn't scare her, but for some reason, Pa thought she was more of a threat than the others had come around. Almost like he knew her from somewhere. 

She'd hid the picture of Samuel in her pocket when she went to get the boys. Wasn't until she actual saw the brother in the house that she realized the lady cop had to have gotten the picture from him. 

_"I'm not going to hurt you."_

She'd have killed him if she could, but he was quick and her knife wasn't big enough. Even while she was screaming for Daddy, she knew this was her doing as much as Lee's or Jarrod's. Never take more'n a couple in a year, Pa always said, and the boys had taken two in less than two weeks. 

No reason to tell her Pa later neither, because it was all a mess. She knew that, even while Pa tried to find a way to fix it. Fix it fast. Even if nobody else was looking for Samuel and his brother, they'd look for the cop. The boys could strip the car down...could kill all three quick and hide the bodies in the waste pit, under the barn out in the woods. They only needed time enough to do it all. 

When the brother started screaming he'd kill them all, she knew how he felt. 

Too much time passed between the first shot and the one that should have come after. Too much time -- she waited too long for Pa and Jarrod to come back, waiting to hear the gunshots that would tell her the cop was dead, that Samuel was dead. When she'd finally heard the shooting, she'd listened, all the while watching the brother. The longer it went on the less scared he looked, the more confident. She'd wanted to cut his eyes out... 

Then it had gone quiet. She heard the steps. Heard the voice calling her. Just her name. Might be Jarrod...or Lee or... 

She hadn't known Samuel could move that fast or that quiet, but she'd known he'd be strong. Strong enough to keep her from cutting him, strong enough to hold her so that her kicking and screaming and squirming and trying to bite him hadn't done nothing but get her shoved in closet in the hallway. And it had been open, everything she could have easily used as a weapon taken out. 

Just the heavy winter coats and boots. He'd set something to the door and it wouldn't give no matter how hard she threw herself against it. 

She heard him, talking to his brother, couldn't make out the words. Realized she didn't know if Pa or the boys were alive or dead. They could leave her here, in the closet... 

"Missy." Samuel's voice on the other side of the door. "Missy...Someone will--" 

"Is they dead?" she asked. 

"What?" 

"Did you kill them? Pa, an' Jarrod an' Lee? Is they dead?" 

"No! No...Missy. Your brothers are in the cages. Your father...he's hurt. But he'll... The police will be here soon. Don't...don't fight them." 

His brother muttered something and Samuel spoke sharply to him. "Missy...just when they come to get you, don't fight them. You'll only get hurt," he said. "Okay? Missy?" 

She didn't answer him. Wouldn't. She wanted to scream at him, wanted to ask him to let her out, take her with him, wanted to claw his eyes out. Hurt him. Make him wait with her. 

She wished Pa had given her a gun. 

Instead, she pulled Pa's coat off the hook and settled it around her. 

She wasn't sure it was another gunshot she heard, at first. Too far, too muffled. And she waited and waited...heard voices finally; footsteps, people talking, the whir of sirens. When they pulled the door open she only looked up at the two police officers, got to her feet. They put handcuffs on her but they let her keep Pa's coat. 

Wasn't 'til she got outside that she was sure. She didn't scream, didn't yell, only pulled away from the cop and went to where the ambulance fellers were loading that black bag into the back of the truck. Only barely saw Jarrod and Lee's faces from the back of a patrol car. 

And she saw that lady cop staring at her. 

She stared back, kept staring until they pulled her away, put her in the back of another car. Made her wait some more. 

Finally that lady cop came over to her, got in the back seat with her while another cop got in the front. 

Missy didn't have nothing to say to her. 

Samuel had lied to her. Her daddy was dead. 

She shifted and could feel the picture in her pocket still, put her hands up against her stomach. 

Pa told her not to talk to anyone, so she didn't. Didn't matter what they asked her. Only time she did anything was when they tried to take Pa's coat away from her. She didn't see Jarrod or Lee, didn't ask to see them. 

They finally put her in a little room with a bed and a toilet. Somebody brought her food on a paper plate and milk in a paper cup. 

Next day the let her see her brothers, in a room with nothing but a table and some chairs, both of them handcuffed to the table with a cop outside watching them and another lady cop waiting inside the door, but not that one. Not that same one whose face Missy would never forget. Some feller in a suit was there too. 

Jarrod couldn't shut up. He wasn't saying much that made any sense, only that he'd shot Pa, that he hadn't meant to. Lee wouldn't look at him. Wouldn't hardly look at Missy. 

"Jarrod," Missy said finally; didn't raise her voice none. "Did you kill him? Did you shoot Daddy and kill him?" she asked. 

"I shot him. That feller, your--" 

"Did you kill Pa?" she snapped out. 

Jarrod shook his head. "No. No...I shot him but he was hurt, bleeding. Not dying." 

She looked at Lee, stared hard and he stared back then shook his head. 

That was all Missy needed to know. That cop lady, or Samuel, or his brother had killed her Pa. Maybe all three. Didn't matter. She sat back and let the feller in the suit talk. 

She didn't understand half of it, but she paid attention. Seems like Samuel and his brother were gone by the time the police showed up. Seems like the police hadn't looked very hard for them. 

Seemed like maybe Samuel wasn't so nice after all. 

She tried to remember all the things her Pa had told her, about her being the smart one. About her being the one to keep the family together. 

She didn't know how she could do it now, but she would figure it out. 

"You don't' say nothing to nobody," she said, interrupting the suit feller -- the lawyer. She looked at Lee first then Jarrod. "Nothing. Not to him, not to anybody." 

"Young lady--" 

She ignored him. "No matter what they ask, who it is. You don't say nothing," she said. 

Lee stared hard at her, then sat back, eyes narrow. Jarrod look confused. "Nothing?" 

"Nothing about our business, our family," Missy said. "Not unless _I_ say. You understand me?" 

Jarrod nodded and dropped his gaze. Lee didn't drop his gaze, but he started smiling when the lawyer kept asking things and they wouldn't answer. 

When they finally made Missy leave, she figured it was a start. 

It was hard though, being off by herself. They finally took her out of the little cell and moved her down to the Juvenile center. She about bit the Doctor's hand off when he checked her over. 

The doctor hadn't said nothing about her carrying a child, and she was waiting still. Getting close to her time, close to her blooding. She'd know then. 

They let her bathe and gave her clean clothes, and let her keep her own; but the only things she was worried about was Pa's coat and her picture. She wouldn't let either of them out of her sight. Slept on the coat, with the picture under her pillow. 

She missed her Pa. Missed Jarrod and Lee too. 

They fed her and the other girls...well, they learned to leave her alone after the first few days. 

The boys were going to jail. Nothing she could do to stop it. There'd be a trial at some point, she knew that much. Didn't surprise her none when that lawyer feller actually stopped by to see her. 

She had on new clothes -- new for her. She took to braiding her hair back. Made her look older. Made her feel older. 

"Missy," he said. "Your brothers, they won't say anything. Nothing at all. Not to the police, not to me. That's going to make them difficult to defend." 

"What's they charged with?" 

"Well, a good many things. Murder, for one." 

She shook her head. "They didn't murder nobody." Hunting wasn't murder. Jarrod hadn't killed Pa. "But somebody killed my Daddy." 

"He was trying to escape, the officer said." 

Her Pa wouldn't have run. One of them three, they'd killed him. When he was already hurt, wounded. 

This would be hard to say, hard to make this lie sound true. "My brothers didn't kill nobody. But Daddy did. That Jenkins feller." 

The lawyer leaned forward. "Why?" 

"He was ugly to me. Mean. So Daddy killed him." 

"And the others?" 

"Weren't no others. They find any bodies?" 

The lawyer had only looked at her and Missy had just smiled at him. 

++++ 

Wasn't that easy. They wouldn't let her talk to Jarrod and Lee alone and at first there was only so much that lawyer was willing to do. Wasn't like Missy had money to pay him. 

But he got his name in the paper. Seemed like he worked a little harder after that. 

The day of Lee and Jarrod's trial, Missy got her blooding again. She'd been late. She'd thought...but when it came she was almost relieved. 

Wasn't sure how she'd feel about carrying the child of the man who killed her Pa. Might have made her think twice about doing what needed to be done. 

They found Lee and Jarrod guilt of accessory to murder. There was other things, but that was the big one. Thirty years was a long time. Too long if she wanted their help. But the lawyer said he'd appeal. Said he might could get them reduced sentences. 

They let her go back to the house to get clothes, a few personal items. There was police tape all over the place but someone had called animal control seen to the cows and pigs and chickens. That was good. They'd confiscated all the guns, the tools...evidence, they said. 

The day after her brothers was moved to the state prison, Missy found herself in a foster home. She was to be home schooled, get caught up. She had a caseworker, and a place to sleep. She got to go visit her brothers once every other month. 

They buried her Pa with none of his kin there, but the lawyer, he told her what lot it was in the potters field. She folded the piece of paper up and stuck it in the pocket of her father's coat along with the picture. 

There was other pieces of paper in there, some she couldn't read just yet but she'd had them read to her until she knew them by heart. Copies of court records. 

The lady cop's name was Kathleen Hudak, and Samuel... 

Missy thought that was kind of fitting. Her Pa had always favored Winchester rifles. 

He'd taught her to shoot real good. 

He'd also taught her that the best hunters were patient. 

+++++ 

6/19/2006 


	8. Supernatural: Family Ways Part Eight - Annulment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Family Ways Part Eight - Annulment**   
>  **by Maygra**
> 
> Rating: R for themes.  
> Warnings: Horror. Twisted and wrong.  
> Status: Complete  
> Characters: Sam, Dean, Kathleen Hudak, Missy Bender  
> Slight AU for _The Benders_.  
>  Minor reference to _Shadow_.
> 
> Note: Here endeth the story. **_Really._** If you want more. You have my full permission to just... dig into your  
>  own psyches. Mine's scraped a little raw.
> 
> Thank you to all the people who went on this ride with me. There's safety in numbers.
> 
> (7,076 Words)
> 
>  _The characters and situations portrayed here are not mine, they belong to the WB. This is a fan authored work and no profit is being made. Please do not link to this story without appropriate warnings. Please do not archive this story without my permission._  
>  +++++

Two miles down the road, a pick up truck slowed as it passed them and waited. Dean reached the passenger door first then almost knocked Sam over, backing into him when a huge dog leapt at the half open window, snarling at him. 

"You can ride in the back," said the driver and Dean caught only a glimpse of a bearded face, yellow Caterpillar cap settled on hair that could have been blond or black. The dog was white. 

"Thanks," he said and damn near fell again when he hauled himself over the tailgate. His shoulder was hurting like a son of bitch. 

Sam caught his arm, kept him from slipping. 

The driver waited until they'd settled with their backs to the cab before pulling back onto the road. After a few minutes, he spoke sharply to the dog and it stopped trying to chew its way through the rear window to get at them. 

Then it started raining. Which was just oh, so, much the last straw, Dean was half tempted to wrestle dog and driver both, just out of sheer irritation. Instead, he pulled his coat up around his neck, tucked his shoulder tighter into Sam's and concentrated on how miserable he was, how much his shoulder and head hurt, and how likely he was to jump at gunshots and car backfires for a long time unless Sam was standing right next to him. 

Probably hadn't been more than five minutes, maybe eight. He probably shaved that many years off his life until Sam had shown up like a ghost and managed to toss little Miss Psychopath into a closet. 

Beside him, Sam had his knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, head down. Hard to talk over the roar of an engine, the sputter of a muffler that had seen better days. 

The truck hit the edge of town and the driver slowed, rolled down his window and asked. Dean revised his opinion of the backwoods locals of Hibbing, Minnesota, slightly when he dropped them off near the police station so Dean could pick up his car. 

But only slightly. 

"I've got a room," Dean told Sam as they both slid into the familiar interior. "But we probably shouldn't stay." 

Sam nodded, hair plastered to his head and face. He looked paler under the Impala's dome light than he had back at the farm house. "Long enough to let me shower, change clothes. Need to look at your shoulder." 

"It's fine." 

Sam hadn't even bothered arguing with him, just closed the door and put his head back. 

It wasn't that far, but in the close confines of the car, Dean realized Sam needed a shower _badly_. 

It stopped raining when they reached the hotel. Figured. 

Dean unlocked the door while Sam got his own gear out of the car. Dean hadn't left much here; wouldn't have left even his clothes if he'd known he was going to be gone as long as he was. If Sam hurried, he'd have time to take a shower as well. 

First, he'd settle for cleaning the blood off his face and hope that the burn in his shoulder hurt worse than it actually was, because burns were a bitch when they went bad. 

His shirt caught on his skin anyway, making him swear just as Sam came in. He dropped his bag and helped Dean peel his top shirt back. The one good thing about cotton was that it charred when it burned; it didn't melt, didn't fuse itself into the wound. "I got it. I got it," Dean snapped and Sam's hands dropped. "Grab your shower, dude. You reek and we need to hit the road." 

His first clue that not all was well in Sam-ville should have been the fact that Sam didn't argue with him. There were probably clues before that but Dean had been too relieved, tired, sore, miserable, wet, and just God-damned grateful they were both still alive, he hadn't even looked for them. But it was a clue because Sam could be downright motherly when Dean was hurt, to the point of being truly annoying, like Dean hadn't been patching himself and Sam up for years. Peeling his T-shirt off, he tried to remember if Sam had been than clingy before he went to college and decided he probably had been, only then he'd come at it with the attitude that Dean was stupid to get hurt. 

Since Nebraska he'd been just as fussy but without the attitude. 

The only sink and mirror was in the bathroom, and Dean tapped before shoving the door open. "Watch the pressure, man," he warned, giving only a glance toward the shower, toward where Sam's bag rested on the toilet seat. The curtain was age-yellowed white but opaque. Dean kept the cold water to a trickle, pressed it to the wound on his shoulder with a hiss. Blistered and red but not as bad as it could have been had that lunatic pressed harder or held the poker there longer. He snagged an extra towel and got the blood off his face. 

Totally made a face as the steam and heat in the room brought up the same smells he'd gotten a hint of in the car. God. It smelled like Sam had been rolling in pig shit among other things. Given his accommodations he probably had been. The other smells weren't quite as overwhelming; sweat, mud, whiskey maybe -- some kind of alcohol. "Yo, Sam. Bag those clothes before you put them in the car. And remind me to get bleach. Possibly Lysol." 

"Just toss them," Sam said around what sounded like a mouthful of water. 

"I'm not touching them," Dean said and cut the water. He wanted a shower as well but it could wait. Burn ointment on his shoulder, a fresh shirt and jeans, they'd drive for a couple of hours, find another town, another motel. 

He almost missed the second clue as well. Almost. Wasn't like they had a lot of money for clothes, and Sam was even more practical and anxious about their finances than Dean was, most of the time. The clothes were nasty, but really, nothing a simple washing wouldn't take care of. Sam would wear his clothes, his jeans especially, until they were practically falling off him; riddled with holes, worn at the pockets and cuffs. 

All in all, Sam was in the shower no more than ten minutes before the water shut off. Another five before he came out again in clean clothes, jeans, and long sleeved sweat shirt, flannel over that, his hair still wet, hunting for the trash can and stealing the plastic bag out of it. 

He came out of the bathroom with the clothes wrapped in the plastic and dropped the whole bundle in the garbage can. Dean stared at him as Sam grabbed his gear and headed for the car, something trying to click over in his brain, some connection trying to be made but it was totally eluding him. Something about the clothes...something about them needing to leave no traces of themselves behind made him grab the bag and shove it into his own duffel, but that was as far as he got. 

Two hours later all Dean could think was thank God for automatic steering and state lines and Wisconsin motels that looked like big dairy barns. Although glancing at the way Sam stared at it, he wasn't actually sure that was a good thing. 

The room itself did not look like a barn, thankfully. 

During those two hours conversation had been pretty much limited to, "I can drive." 

"I'm fine. Let's just get the hell out of here." 

And, "thanks for finding me," which had gone into Dean's ears and settled onto his tongue and in the back of his throat like molten lead. He'd damn well nearly gotten Sam killed. He didn't even know how Sam had gotten past the first guy, or the other two, and wasn't sure he wanted to know how anymore than he really wanted to know if the old guy had actually tried to run or not. There were some things you just knew would be bad to try and picture in your mind. Sometimes _don't look_ was good advice for things other than gorgons and cockatrices. 

And yet, he'd come out way, far ahead of where Kathleen Hudak ended up. Sam was still alive, still breathing. Worn out, quiet, and slumped in the seat beside him but alive and slowly, slowly, the molten lead started to taste a little sweeter. 

He headed for the shower as soon as they unloaded the car a second time, Sam going to see what he could scrounge from the vending machines. Both of them were tired and hungry, the former more than the latter, but it would be a long time before they could find actual food and Dean didn't know when was the last time Sam had eaten anything. 

Which then made him worry about what the hell the crazy people might have tried to feed Sam, if they had. And if Sam had eaten it, which led him to the fact that really, he had no idea what Sam had been through in the last three days. Obviously not hurt (bad) because he'd managed to take on all three of those crazy fuckers and the girl. And okay, so Kathleen had probably helped there while Dean was being watched over by a knife wielding _moppet_. All things considered, probably not one of his better rescues. 

When Sam came back he had sodas and chips, and Dean actually took a good, hard look at him for the first time. Reddened, bruised skin on his cheek; lower lip a little swollen; moving like he was stiff, which, yeah, a few days in a cage, a fight with the crazy clan -- stiff and sore was probably the least of it. 

And quiet. Not even just Sam, "I've got nothing to say," quiet, or Sam, "Oh my God, I'm so tired, I'm too tired to sleep," quiet. 

"You need something?" Dean asked gesturing to the first aid kit. "Bruised up?" 

"No. I'm okay. Just sleep." He'd stretched out on the bed on his back, one foot on the floor. 

Dean would ask again in the morning. He would. He reached over to turn out the light, watched Sam roll over on his stomach. 

Click-click in the back of his mind. 

In the dark, he heard Sam move again, opened his eyes in the dim light to see Sam on his side, facing Dean, lying on top of the covers in his jeans and shirts. The only thing he'd done was kick off his shoes and socks. 

Sam slept on his back. Most of the time. Fell asleep that way anyway, had since he was a kid. 

Click. It wasn't enough. Not enough to put together. Enough to know Sam was probably freaking out a little bit now that he time to actually think. Never a good thing where Sam was concerned. 

Not so great for him either. Gunshots playing over in his mind, making him twitch. The sudden dump of adrenaline and euphoria in his bloodstream when Sam had come up behind the girl and grabbed her, held her with his arms wrapped around her while she kicked and screamed and tried to bite him. Held her easily, although Dean bet Sam had bruises on his shins and thighs, scratches on his arms. Rough, red bruising on his wrists when he'd just picked her up and carried her to the closet. 

Sam snapping at him after he'd freed Dean and gone to try and calm her down through the door. 

"That is one psycho little bitch," Dean said. 

"Jesus, Dean she's just a kid. Who I just locked in the closet. You don't know--" 

And Sam had shut up. For a minute. _"Don't fight them. You'll only get hurt."_

Sam stalking quickly through the house, finding his hoodie, finding his boots and Dean hadn't even realized he was barefoot in all that muck and filth. Pulling them on over dirty feet, bruised ankles... 

The clicking rolled over like a bullet being chambered into a gun. 

Sam hadn't been tied up when he found him. He'd been okay, glad to see him. 

Wrists bruised, okay. They could have tied him up when they'd first grabbed him. But ankles? If they'd tied him up then, his boots would have protected his skin. Which meant they'd tied his ankles up after taking his boots off him, but Sam's jean always hung too long, and maybe it was a little paranoid thing to think of them pushing his jeans legs up to tie his feet together for whatever, but it wouldn't be ignored. 

_Don't look. Don't look._

He rolled over and reached for the lamp, eyes fixed on Sam when he turned it on. 

Not just bruised. Abraded. Raw though not bleeding. Wrists and ankles like Sam had really fought when they tied them. Sam blinked at him and Dean stared at the reddened color painting Sam's skin _all the way around_ both ankles and both wrists. Deep loops, scrapes across the top of his feet. 

Sam blinked at him, pushed up. "You okay?" 

"What happened?" 

Sam's face went utterly and totally blank for a second. Just a second, before he shook his head. "It's over. We're fine." 

"Fine? I only spent thirty minutes in their scintillating company and I'm not fine. Why'd they tie you up?" 

"Because I fought back," Sam said steadily, stubbornly. And Sam was so relaxed while Dean thought maybe the tension he felt would snap his spine. 

He got up, moved to the end of Sam's bed and Sam started to sit up. 

Dean stopped him simply by curling his fingers around Sam's ankles, watching his face. "Did they tie you up like this?" he asked both hands curving around both of Sam's ankles. "Or this...?" he asked, separating his hands and Sam's feet, pushing his legs apart. 

Not surprised when Sam kicked free, sat up, caught between really, really pissed and completely terrified. He looked like he wanted to be sick. Dean knew he wanted to be. 

"No," Sam said, shaking his head. "No." 

"What did they do? Which...one...which one, Sam?" Dean asked, not even sure he could breathe around this. Praying it was only one of them and then feeling his stomach heave at the idea that _one_ of them would somehow be _better_. Knowing he was right no matter how many times Sam said no. 

How many times had he said it? 

Sam pulled up and back, swinging his legs over the side of the bed like he'd get up, before all the blood drained from his face. 

Dean pushed Sam's head between his knees, grabbed the trash can. Even odds on which of them would need it first. 

His hand rested on the back of Sam's head, fingers rubbing his neck. He was insanely, hysterically glad Sam didn't flinch or pull away from his touch. Swallowing hard when he saw the bruises there too, hidden by Sam's hair, along the side of his throat, along the tendon. He moved his hand slowly, pulling the collar of Sam's shirt away carefully; saw the necklace of bruises pressed into Sam's skin above his collarbone. He'd totally missed them under the dirt and bad light. Smudges and mud. 

He hadn't wanted to see. He still didn't. 

"We'll find a hospital. There has to be one in Duluth." 

"I'm fine," Sam said, sounding hollow. "It wasn't...I'm just bruised, not...nothing that needs a doctor." 

"Christ, Sam...you need to get...tested at least." He couldn't believe he was able to think this clearly, not with rage pushing aside everything else. Not with his mind blanking on actually putting a name to any of it. "They... those men...God knows, where they've \-- who they--" And an equally twisted part of Dean almost hoped it wasn't the old man. Hoped it was one of the others, because he'd find a way to kill them, either or both, slowly, if at all possible. 

Sam started laughing. Sounded a little like crying but no, it was definitely laughing if a little hysterical. "It wasn't...it wasn't the _men_ ," he managed, which was all Dean's brain could take before Sam bent over lower and was completely and thoroughly sick. 

Dean waited only long enough to make sure Sam wouldn't pass out before getting up quickly to get a towel and wet it, a washcloth too. Grabbed what was left of Sam's soda and held it for him until Sam stopped heaving. Not much came up -- he hadn't had much of anything but water and soda, but the corn chips Dean had eaten were bitter in the back of his throat. 

The wet washcloth went on the back of Sam's neck and Sam used the towel to wipe at his mouth, just leaning over with his elbow braced on his knee and his head in his hand. 

Not the men. Not the...that didn't leave a whole lot of options, and Dean wasn't sure which of those made him feel less sick, because that left only the girl or the animals. 

The little psycho bitch girl who'd have been happy to either cut his balls off or carve out his eye. "All right...not the guys. So... tell me it was the girl as opposed to ..." 

Sam lifted his head and stared at him. "As opposed to...?" 

"I don't know! Pigs, Chickens, cows, horses for all I know!" Dean said and shoved off the bed and immediately felt bad for blowing up at Sam. 

"It was the girl. Missy," Sam's voice was so quiet, Dean almost missed it and was back to trying to even get a grip on this. The parts of this, piecing it together like a puzzle, glancing at Sam and wanting to just ask him, to have...God. He didn't know if it would be better for Sam to talk about it, as little as Dean wanted to hear it, or just let Sam work through it on his own. 

And even that much kind of shifted the pieces a little. Sam, tied up, the bruises on his throat, his wrists and ankles. They'd tied him down so the little bitch could...use him. Use his brother. Fleetingly he knew he'd always been curious about the idea of it, the fantasy of it, tied down with a willing woman...he'd never thought about the reverse of that, if he were unwilling, and Sam had been...unwilling, not wanting it, not asking for that little monster to... 

And it was for damn sure she hadn't managed to tie Sam down by herself. She wasn't big or strong enough to fight Sam off, hadn't been able to. Wouldn't have been able to threaten Dean if he hadn't been tied up as well...annoyed the hell out of him to think a thirteen year old girl had... 

Snap-click and he stared at Sam, at the stricken, still shell-shocked look on his face. 

Reassuring her even as he'd locked her up. 

Not a monster. Not to Sam. Not entirely. 

He didn't quite get to enjoy the corn chips a second time but it was close, as he headed into the bathroom, splashing water on his face. Not surprised when Sam eased up against the door. At least he was on his feet. 

"Did you...she made you..." 

"Yeah." 

Dean put his back to the sink, met Sam's eyes; gaze darting over the bruises that were easier to see now. "She didn't do that...those...your neck." 

"No, that was...one of the brothers. The younger one...when--" 

"He was there?" 

A nod and Sam twisted, put his back to the wall outside the bathroom. 

"The whole time?" 

"Both of them. So I wouldn't hurt her," Sam said. 

Like Sam would or could but that was the whole problem wasn't it? Dean might have been staring at a diminutive serial killer but all Sam had seen was a girl, a child, forced to do and be and see things she never should have. 

"It's not your fault, Sam. It's not," he said. 

The corner of Sam's mouth twitched. "I know, but that doesn't actually seem to help much," he said and gave Dean a watery looking smile before looking away and rubbing his face. "That cop, Kathleen..." 

"Yeah?" 

"You think we could get a favor from her?" Dean's turn to rub his face. "Oh, God. I don't know, maybe. What?" 

"She could be pregnant," Sam said quietly, looking down. "I mean...I know it's probably too soon to tell but...they should know. To check. I need to know. If she is." 

"Okay. I mean, but Sam, still not \-- not your fault." 

"If she is, it's mine. I want to know," Sam said flatly. 

"So you can what?" Dean said on a barking laugh that had no humor in it. "What? File for custody? _Marry_ her? Sam...even if it is...if you tell them, Kathleen, child protective services -- I mean you want to tell them this? You think that girl or her brothers would back you up on this instead of hanging you out for statutory?" He snarled the last of it, watched Sam's face flush, his jaw go hard and tense, before he twisted away. 

Dean grabbed his arm, pulled him back. "Sam, man...I'm sorry. Look," he said and stepped out of the bathroom so he could face him. There was no reason for him to be pissed off at Sam, to lash out at the person who least needed it. The more surprising thing was that Sam didn't hit back. "Look, even if she is, you know, there's no way short of a DNA test to know it's yours." He could not believe he was saying this, thinking it. "That family, her brothers, hell, maybe even her father," he said. 

Sam shook his head. "If she is, it will be mine. I think I can be pretty sure of that..." he said in a tight voice. "She was....she's kid, Dean. She's a...was a virgin." 

"You can't be sure of that. Look, those brothers of hers--" 

"I can be pretty damn sure," Sam snapped finally, shoving his hand off, pacing the short distance between the bathroom and the door like he wanted to run. "Blood on my dick is kind of an indicator. Not that I don't think the brother...the younger one, didn't want her, was pissed off because I was her first--Oh, God," he said and just stopped. Looked sick; kind of wide-eyed and just close to panic or passing out again. But of course he didn't do that. What he did was take too deep a breath and let it out, in something that should have been a sob but only choked him. 

"Sam, Sam..." Dean said and grabbed him, pushed him toward the bed. His shoulder stung and ached and he almost welcomed it; the pain, however minor, cutting a path through the fog of anger and just sheer helplessness. 

Sam almost missed sitting on the bed, Dean gripping his arms, pushing him back while Sam leaned over, shaking and sweating, like it wasn't May in Wisconsin. Dean crouched in front of him, one knee on the floor, gripping the back of Sam's neck, trying to make sense of the words falling out of Sam's mouth and avoid being gut-punched by them at the same time. 

"Her father...her own father, agreed to it, was...his bed, like she was doing something...wonderful, something _special_ ," Sam hissed out, and wet warmth struck the inside of Dean's arm, crystal clear and bitter if he could taste it. "And her brother getting off on it...watching her...watching me, wanting to know if she was _tight_ like he knew she would be...and it hurt her. I tried...but I hurt her--" 

"No. No, Sam..." Dean said sharply gripping Sam's face in both hands, appalled but not surprised that Sam would tear himself up over this. And not because he thought he was guilty of anything but because he couldn't blame the girl. Wouldn't. 

Dean could, did. Even knowing somewhere, somehow this was something done to her as much as it had been done to Sam. "Sam, Sammy, listen to me. You can feel bad for her, for whatever fucked up load of crap passed for her life, for her being treated like a prized mare...but that's it. They tied you down and it doesn't matter if it was her or one of them -- you didn't put her there. You would never have put her there. And child or not, she is just as screwed up as the rest of them. You didn't cause any of it. And if she's pregnant...even if she is, if it's yours, you can't _save_ her. You get me? You _can't_. Not this one." 

Sam's teeth flashed and he lifted his head but it was no more laughter than Dean's words were meant ironically. "Yeah? Well, tell me that again in a year or so if she's pregnant and that's my child and there are bizarre or mysterious fires in Hibbing...you write that down, Dean, and tell me that then." 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean asked, wondering if Sam was going to completely lose it. Which he might. Probably deserved to, but he was jumping tracks Dean didn't even know they'd been following. 

"Jesus, Dean. They don't even know...she couldn't know... how even more fucked up it was...it is. You look at the way they live and you think it can't get any worse and here I come. Tell me you really think that she deserves death by fire because she or her father had the fucking rotten luck to pick me to pop her cherry. Or that her child, my child...is going to get exactly the same chance she had or you I had for a life that isn't just one nightmare after another. You write that down." 

He took a deep breath but it wasn't steady and Dean could only stare at him, because he thought they'd dealt with this shit in Saginaw, with Max, but apparently not. 

"Did you see this, Sam?" he asked. 

"What?" Now is it was Sam's turn to stare. 

"The girl...the fire. Did you have a vision in all of this?" Dean asked him which would really be too much, way too much, on top of everything else, but it would explain a lot. 

Sam blinked and shook his head and the thought actually seemed to calm him down a little bit. "No...I just...her father was talking. Her brother...like they lived in a whole other world. Except it wasn't. It isn't. Like Max. Could have been us." 

Sam was making no sense at all. Okay, somewhere in his really, really screwed up brain there was logic behind this fear, grief behind this anger...but right now, Sam was weaving where he sat and had tears spilling down his face while he laughed at something that was too painful and raw to really cry about. He was exhausted. Literally. And Dean wasn't far behind him. "I'll call her tomorrow, Sam. I promise," he said, then twisted around to pull his bag down, digging into the outside pocket for the bottle there. Plastic cups from the bathroom and he poured generously. 

Sam stared at the alcohol. "I drink this, I'll probably throw it back up." 

"Probably. But if you drink enough, you might pass out first," Dean said and caught his neck again, pressing their foreheads together. "We'll figure it out, Sam. One day at a time, okay? But not this second. Drink." 

Sam took a healthy sip and closed his eyes. "Her father gave me...moonshine, I guess. Like he was toasting a new son in law." He drank again, more deeply and yeah, oh yeah. Dean could almost see it when it hit, half afraid Sam would throw it all back up, but chances were, with little food and no sleep, it would work fast enough to just knock him out for awhile. Sam really was a lightweight when he drank, even when he was at his best. 

He wasn't anywhere close to that at the moment and he didn't really resist when Dean kind of pushed him down, made him stretch out. 

Dean moved the trash can back to the side of the bed, made sure Sam had water at hand and stared at his own bed before just climbing in with Sam. He wasn't sure how much sleep he'd get anyway. And if the whiskey didn't work, it would be a rough night. Sam looked at him blearily, but then he rolled to his back and closed his eyes. 

Dean wished the alcohol worked the same for him -- it would, if he drank enough of it, but that wasn't really a good idea, appealing as it sounded. 

Surprised the hell out of him when he dozed off. Surprised him even more that Sam only twitched a little, whatever thoughts or dreams chasing themselves in his brain never erupting into anything horrific enough to make him scream or wake him up. 

When Sam did wake, he went almost immediately into the bathroom, into the shower again. The water ran long past the point where Dean figured Sam was still _bathing_. 

They needed to move. They needed to get food because even without Sam's issues, Dean was feeling shaky from the lack of food, the lack of sleep and probably the booze. He dug into his bag for clothes and found the plastic bag with Sam's. 

It still reeked. Even through the bundled plastic, he could smell it faintly, wondered if that smell had spread through everything he owned; shit and sweat and fear and blood and God knew what else. More than dirt or filth, more even than just a reminder. 

He took it with him when he went outside, followed the signs to the vending area and found the trash can there, shoved the bag deep under empty cans and bottles and trash from other people's cars. Buried it like he wished he could have buried all of them, the men, even the girl, for how they'd treated Sam. 

God, he was dancing around this, like he danced around cops when he needed information. 

They had raped his brother. His Sam. Didn't matter if it was the girl's body doing the work, committing the act. Her brothers had tied Sam down, threatened him. The father had given his permission, encouraged it, Practically _thanked_ Sam at the end of it. There were not even words for how fucked up this was. 

And if Dean knew Sam, and he did, how much this would fuck with Sam was likely to be off the scales as well. Last night hadn't even been half of it. 

He headed back. He wasn't even sure what to do next except get them food, keep moving, prepare for this to be yet something else Sam would shunt over to the part of his brain that was the feeding ground for guilt and grief and all the stuff Sam thought he could conquer by sheer will and intellect alone. And Dean had such a stellar record of helping Sam through that so far. 

At least Sam was out of the shower when he got back, pulling out clean clothes, looking not as pale. He turned around when Dean came in. 

Oh, yeah, he kind of forgot putting his own anger and rage and fear on the list of things they needed to deal with. 

He hoped, prayed, that if Sam thought he had cracked any ribs, he'd say something. He hoped and prayed the line of scratches on Sam's chest, the bruises on his hips and legs and upper arms came from something other than what they looked like. 

He was embarrassingly glad that the weather was cool enough that it actually made sense for Sam to wear his long sleeved shirts and the flannel over that. 

"We should get food," Sam said, calm and quiet and putting his back to Dean while he pulled on underwear and clean jeans. 

"Yeah. We should." 

Because barfing it back up again was always such _fun_. 

+++++ 

They headed south. No real destination. Just south. Follow the road south. Maybe it would get warmer. Maybe they'd just keep driving south until they hit the gulf. Maybe keep going after that. 

Dean called Kathleen from a payphone, left a message. He hadn't really expected her to be there. Tried not to think about what they'd found at that house, what they could have found. He left another message that night, from another payphone. He hesitated in leaving a number because there was no way to know if anyone were looking for him and Sam, if her story, whatever story she told, had held up. 

The third time he called, identifying himself as Greg Washington, and asking for her, she answered. 

"You probably shouldn't use that name," she said. 

"I won't. Not again. Just needed you to know it was me." 

"You probably shouldn't be calling at all." 

Probably not. "Yeah. I know, but there's this thing..." 

"This thing? Not helpful." 

"The girl. Missy. She might be pregnant. Whoever has her, whoever is looking out for her -- you know, your people. They probably need to check. And I -- we -- need to know if she is." 

For a long moment, there was silence. "I need to be able to get in touch with you." 

"I'm at a pay phone." 

"Of course you are," she said. 

"Kathleen, I know you don't owe me anything--" 

"No. I think it's pretty much the other way around. Look, buy a phone with a calling card, call back. Leave the number. Say you are...Steve Miller." 

"Steve Miller?" 

"I love that band. Give me a day or two." 

She hung up. 

Sam was watching him, jaw set. 

"She needs a day or two. How's Cleveland sound to you?" 

+++++ 

Dean kept waiting for something to break. For Sam to break. He hadn't realized how much energy he'd invested in just waiting for it to happen until it did. 

"I had to call in a favor. A personal one," Kathleen told him when she called a week later. A week while Sam got so quiet Dean thought he'd forgotten how to talk. It was so much like how Sam had been in the weeks after Jessica died, Dean couldn't believe he'd forgotten how bad it had been. The only good thing was the bruises had faded. All the ones Dean could see. His own shoulder only held a lingering red mark and what would be a small puckered scar. Sam looked like he might have a scar on the outside of his left wrist where the ropes had cut almost to the bone; colorless, hairless, shiny skin appearing when the scabs started sloughing off. "There's a little problem of custody. Permission to do a gynecological exam on a minor. Currently, until the court gets her sorted out, that would need to come from one of her brothers." 

Dean rubbed at his eyes. "They probably wouldn't give it unless they got to watch," he said. 

"I really didn't want to hear that," she said. 

"Yeah. Sorry." 

"How's your....cousin?" 

Sam was in the room. Dean didn't have to see him to know that Sam was most likely on the bed staring at the ceiling, not even pretending to sleep, not touching laptop or newspapers unless Dean asked him for something specific. It was like living with a ghost. 

"Dealing. Not great but dealing. Are you going to get out of this okay?" 

There was another long silence and behind it, a rustle and click before Kathleen inhaled deeply. "I don't think I'm going to be picking up my pension. I've been suspended. With pay, but still..." 

"I'm sorry." 

"Thanks. I think I'm done anyway. I should have...you know. He was my brother. Protect and serve." Her laugh wasn't nearly as bitter as Dean expected. "Doesn't mean much when you can't do it for the people who matter to you. I guess you know that." 

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." 

"Dean--" 

"No one here by that name..." he said, but he smiled. 

"Riiight. Give me...a few more days. I can't promise--" 

"Whatever you can do. Thanks." 

Shaking down a couple of poltergeists in a town south of Cleveland shook something loose in Sam as well. Not that he suddenly got chatty, but he at least started reading again. Books, maps...making new notes in the back of Dad's journal. 

Kathleen called him again when they were in the Texas panhandle, looking for something that could have been a skinwalker or a rabid coyote. Pretty much the same thing; bullets would kill both. He'd gone out to pick up food. 

"She's not pregnant," were the first words out of her mouth. 

"Thank God," Dean said. "Thank you." 

"I went to see her," Kathleen said, and Dean eased off on the gas pedal. 

"Why?" 

"I don't know. My brother, your brother. She's different. I mean, not that I have a lot to compare her with, but she's in a foster home. Her brothers -- they've been sentenced to thirty years at Stillwater, they'll be eligible for parole in seven." 

"For what?" he asked, because thirty years seemed pretty light. 

"Accessory to murder, accessory to kidnapping, animal cruelty..." This time her laugh was bitter. "It was the girl, you know? She told them not to talk and they didn't. Case was made on evidence alone and my testimony was...questionable." 

He had to pull over. "You went to see her." 

"Yeah. I felt...bad for her. For \-- I don't know. I wanted to be able to salvage something out of it. One good thing. But she's....she scares me more than her brothers. She's not right. And I can't even tell you why. She was polite. Cleaned up. She's going to be a beautiful woman. But she's..." 

"What did she say?" 

"Not much. Told me if she ever needed anything from me, she'd let me know. Thanked me for coming by to check on her. That it was nice of me." 

"She's nuts. You know that, right?" 

"She's something. How's your brother?" 

He didn't correct her. "Not so great. This will help. A lot. " 

"That's good. Tell him...tell him I'm sorry." 

He blinked. "For what?" 

"Not getting therei sooner, not...whatever. Feels like someone should owe him an apology." 

Yeah. He rubbed at his eyes, checked the rearview. "I'll tell him. Thanks. And Kathleen, you did salvage one good thing out of this. My brother. I owe you for that, all kidding aside. Anything you need, anytime...legal or illegal. It's yours." 

She gave him a shaky laugh. "Yeah. You're right. You owe me for that. Next time you're in Hibbing you can buy me a drink." 

Dean smiled, pulled back onto the road. "That could a long while. Like a really long while." Like, never. "I'm gonna give you another number. I mean it, Kathleen. Anything." 

"Okay. Take care of yourself. Take care of your brother." 

"I'll do that." 

When he came in, food in hand, Sam looked up at him. "Kathleen Hudak called me," Dean said. 

He thought he had a handle on how tightly Sam had been strung over the last six weeks. As usual, he underestimated Sam, totally, and for once, maybe forevermore, he couldn't even find it in himself to be uncomfortable or awkward when Sam lost it. Like he'd been holding his breath the whole time, suffocating or drowning, or just unable to breathe at all. 

And how screwed up was it that when the nightmares started that night, Dean actually thought it was good thing? 

Maybe because Dean felt like he could finally breathe too. Holding onto Sam, eyes burning, fingers buried in Sam's hair, holding on so he wouldn't just collapse. For the first time in six weeks, the lingering scent hanging on his clothes, on his skin, on Sam's -- just barely there every time he breathed -- of mud and blood and sweat and fear and filth, finally it was gone. 

They headed for Chicago. 

+++++ 

_Five years later._

The doorbell worked only intermittently, something she needed to get fixed, but it shrilled and she stared at the groceries she'd just unloaded before wiping her hands and heading to the front door. Dusk hadn't quite fallen yet, but she flipped the porch light on, caught a glimpse of a blonde braid as her visitor looked to the street, glancing at the car parked there. 

She opened the door, pushed the screen door wide, dismissed the thought that she was a Jehovah's Witness. They always came in pairs. The girl was slim, dressed in a modest,pretty dress with capped sleeves, carrying a knock-off, oversized designer shoulder bag and wearing a pair of slip on sandals. 

"Officer Hudak?" the girl asked with a wide smile and meeting her eyes. 

Something prickled Kathleen's spine. "I'm Kathleen Hudak, but I haven't been with the police department for a few years. And you are?" 

The girl smiled, her grin slightly uneven. "I'm not surprised you don't remember me, but you came to see me. See if you could help. I told you if I ever needed your help, I'd ask. So, I'm asking." 

She reached into her bag and pulled out a faded and worn photograph. "You remember this feller? I need to find him. Him and his brother. I think you might be able to help me do that." 

Kathleen shoved at the door at the same time Missy shoved in. Kathleen watched the hand that gripped the door. 

She should have watched the other one, feeling Missy's purse push up against her stomach as they fought for the door. She only barely felt the blade that shoved through the leather, into her stomach, not until Missy twisted it. 

Missy pushed her back. Closing the door behind her and watching when Kathleen staggered and fell, hands trying to hold the blood in. 

"You did say you'd help." Missy crouched down and reached out to touch Kathleen's hair, feel it, then wiped her knife in it, cleaning it off. "I always thought that was right nice of you." 

She smiled. 

~end~


	9. Family Ways - Post Series Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author Thinky-Thoughts on completion of the Family Ways story

This is less author's notes than Maygra rambles because her brain is fried but here it is...

First, the whole series combined is 24,686 words - written (and published as fast as it was written) over a span of 7 days from 6/15 to 6/21 2006. . It's probably some of the hardest words I've ever tried to put to paper/pixel. 

I fear I may ramble. I'll try to hold all the thoughts about this series, this story, that I've had over the last week and at least some of them that have been rattling around in the back of my brain since the episode aired in mid-February of 2006.

But before I do that, I want to say thank you, a blanket thank you to everyone that kind of grabbed onto this sinking ship and kicked and prodded until we brought it to shore. And I do mean "we" because quite honestly, this is one story I can say with absolute honesty that were it not for the feedback and encouragement and just the fact that people were reading it, it would never have been written. Never finished. Possibly not really started -- and that isn't true for 90% of what I write, because while I absolutely post for an audience I really don't write specifically for one, but once it's written, then there's no reason not to post. Feedback, at that point, is icing and ice cream and a gift certificate to your favorite restaurant. In this case, feedback was more like the base of sugar, flour, eggs and milk that went into the batter. 

So, thank you, all of you for hanging in there, for commenting, for poking, prodding, for covering your eyes for being weirded out that you liked it, for being turned on, turned off, turned inside out…it was nice not to be alone in that. 

I also want to reiterate here that the series, the universe, the whatever is open. If someone wants to write past the end, go for it. If you want to write about what happened between Lee and Sam after Jarrod took Missy back to her father, go for it. If you want Dean's support and comfort of Sam during Annulment to turn slashy, be my guest. If you want to see what happens when/if Missy finds them, when her brothers get out of prison… feel free. Riff it, remix it, reinterpret it. Rewrite the whole thing from Sam's POV… As with all things, you don't need to ask me, but I'll be glad to provide input if you want it. Or not. I'd like to be credited where it's due but otherwise…have at it if you want. 

Now, about the story. I think I've said most of what I wanted to say about the actual darkness of the story elsewhere. And in comments I've talked about the comparisons/contract thing going on between the Benders and the Winchesters.

Pretty obviously, some of what I used to fill in the background of this story is extrapolated from the ep to some extent, but much of it is mainly my own invention. I mean we can play them, read them as the stereotypical backwoods, inbred, hillbillys -- that was the point, I think. But stereotypes have never worked very well for me, and in a very real sense, if you pulled back on a few of the more "monstrous" aspects of their characters, I grew up with people not much different from them, people who were largely uneducated but not unintelligent. 

It doesn't mean that the Benders, the men especially, aren't sociopaths, they are. But as with Max and the Miller family, sometimes the real monsters live among us or could. Sometimes they already do and you will never know until something happens, which is kind of the real horror story out in the world. 

As much as was possible, I tried to keep this story within the framework of the actual episode. I fudged on the timeline a bit because it's not set in stone, extending Sam's captivity to three days instead of the two that appear to be in the episode, to accommodate both Missy's visit with Sam and then her "special" night with him.

And pretty obviously I took a lot of liberties with the Benders themselves, the whole backstory is pretty much made up, and to be perfectly fair, I had a hard time keeping Jarrod and Lee straight in my head, despite watching the ep three or four times in the past week. Mostly it hinged on the fact that Lee was the one that Pa sent out to kill Sam and Kathleen, sent him alone which was no doubt a plot device but still, minor indicator of which one was more ruthless. 

And there was that aspect, entirely invented for the service of this story, that in a very real sense, Lee is the psychopath of the family. The rest are sociopaths, but Lee is a truly scary, violent individual that Pa Bender barely manages to control. And as I was writing this, I realized that I had managed to make The Benders so sympathetic that I was having a hard time reconciling them to the people who kidnapped, hunted, and murdered people for fun. 

Because without their hunt of Jenkins, and without Pa's declaration at the end that he'd killed Kathleen's brother because it was fun…there was a lot to dislike but not a lot to hate (because, you know, Jenkins was kind of a jerk) . I seriously needed someone to loathe, someone to be irredeemable and Lee got elected, poor boy. 

But also, constraining myself to the parameters of the episode made me make some choices I might not otherwise have made had I invented this entirely out of my brain.

Two things in the episode (well, three, actually but the third came as I was writing, not before) triggered this whole idea

The first was the way Missy greeted Kathleen -- she was a creepy but sympathetic character up until the moment she smiled at Kathleen with such glee and told her "That's gonna hurt," just before her father hit Kathleen with the shovel, then the way Pa spoke to her -- he was very gentle, very, sweet almost, when he told her to fetch her brothers -- and then there was the way she walked off staring at Sam's picture. All of that made her quite possibly the creepiest, most skin-crawling character I'd seen in SPN to date. (And it didn't help that she was obviously quite willing to stab or gut Dean.)

The second was the fact that Sam left Kathleen alone with Pa -- when he already knew her brother was dead and likely killed by these people. Granted, Sam was torn because he needed to find and rescue Dean. (And if you haven't read the sides for this episode and that scene you should. Missy originally did indeed have a gun -- and the script notes are pretty telling about what writers know will and will not be allowed on TV, like the fact that there's a note in the script that states strongly that Sam is not to turn the gun on Missy, or point it at her…) But also, because later, after Pa is dead, Sam doesn't call Kathleen on what was obviously a lie about how the man died. Dean doesn't either but given how strongly Sam has objected to killing, no matter how justified, in the past (Both in Faith and in Nightmare, both of which preceded this ep,) the fact that he just swallowed this, to me spoke volumes about where Sam's breaking point is -- and suggested an avenue toward pushing him to it.

Those two things pretty much festered in my head until this story came out…

The third thing has to do with the whole idea of rape, both the one that happened and the one that didn't. 

Rape isn't a topic or even a plot device I'm afraid to use. I think that's pretty obvious in any fandom I've ever written in. However, in this story, Sam's rape became something else. In a very real sense, there were five rapists: Four Benders and a Winchester. The Benders: Pa, the boys and Missy, all participated in Sam's rape. It can and could still be argued that Missy is both still young enough and without the basic understanding of normal human interactions to not be considered a rapist, but in all honestly, were she older, it probably still would have happened, except she might not have needed her brothers to tie Sam down. 

And at fault or not, guilty or not, Sam feels like a rapist. It's the part Dean has trouble getting his mind around, it's the part that makes Sam sick, the part that he can't reconcile, no matter how little control he had of the situation, because Sam does live primarily in a society and amid rules that place an abstract but deeply moral value to a child's, especially a girl child's, virginity and looks down on violations of her body. (And I know there are flaws in that statement -- that it's far too simple a summation of how females are treated in society, and that this story plays heavily into the patriarchal mindset. I get it. I'm holding the line because it's not a treatise on feminism or politics, but a fictional paradigm flip.) 

Sam couldn’t stop it. If they'd had a gun to his head and told him to do it, chances were Sam would have taken the bullet rather than do that to a child. So, even though he's really not a rapist, he's a victim in this, no matter what his body did, Sam feels like rapist and he may never be able to shed that feeling. Come to terms with it yes, but completely shed it? No. And I get that I'm relying heavily on an idealized version of the male psyche. In this story, in this world, both Sam and Dean dance in the grey a lot, but the baseline is that they are decent human beings, decent men. They are the good guys, albeit not perfect. 

And that, that bit of backthought about Sam's mental state is why I think he didn't speak up about Kathleen killing Pa. Because in a very real sense, it was Pa who put Sam in the position of being a rapist. Even Sam has limits for evil. 

But that left me with the problem with Lee, because yes, as many of you probably suspected, I gave thought to Lee actually raping Sam in a full on and brutal fashion. In some ways I could justify it, just because I loathed Lee so much. But ultimately it was the episode that kind of put it in a far more passive framework, much of which was left off screen and to your imaginations. Someone asked me off journal about it and my answer is pretty much this: 

Lee did not orally or anally rape Sam. He did, after Jarrod left with Missy, think about it because he was already hard from watching his little sister get fucked. But he would have had to untie Sam -- not a good idea -- and while Lee is evil, he's not really stupid. So in my head, what happenedd was that he got off on Sam, either by simply masturbating or a kind of frottage where Missy had come on Sam…Enough to disgust Sam, humiliate him, but without the physical violation of penetration. Enough to leave traces on Sam's skin that remained there until and even after Pa gave him his clothes back. Until he got his shower. 

And I came to that conclusion because Sam didn't kill Lee when he had the chance. Yes, the gun jammed but a couple of more good swats with the rifle butt would have done it. I think that had Lee actually, penetrated Sam, a) Sam would not have been in nearly as good shape as he was when Dean found him and b) I'm thinking Lee would be dead or hurt a lot worse. You may or may not agree, but that's where my head went and it's very much the dilemma I faced when writing about similar themes for the episode Skin because for me, I can approach ep related stories in one of two ways: I can make the story fit in the episode by missing or expanding themes and scenes as I did here and in my story Weak Point or I can alter the circumstances or follow up from the episode as I did in False Comforts; springboard forward and bypass all the canon that follows, pretty much.

I chose the confines of the story, which means that by and large, I needed to make the story work within the confines of the dialogue and actions as it aired. Which meant Sam could still get away with giving Dean a hard time about being clocked by a 13 year old girl. Kind of as a sideways apology for snapping at him when he put Missy in the closet. I could make it work because Sam never had any intention of telling Dean what had happened. I think he was kind of relieved that Dean figured it out, but on his own, I don't think Sam would have said anything, or not immediately. Not until it sank in that Missy could be pregnant, not until it crashed down on him and he couldn’t not face it. And even then he might have tried to contact Kathleen on his own.

A few people asked (begged, pleaded [g]) for Sam's POV on this. 

I tried. I really did. I had thought the last chapter would be a swap off between Dean and Sam. But I quite literally could not get a take on Sam's thoughts in all this that didn't come off sounding stilted or just dry. I just hit a wall, a blank wall, which I think, may actually be a pretty fair representation of Sam's mental state. He's been traumatized, but physically he's in good shape. In the Winchester handbook of dealing with life, if you're not bleeding out or dying, you're okay. 

Sam, IMO, tends to pile things on top of one another, years and years of doubt and worry, of guilt and fear and anger. From his mother's death, to Jessica's, and everything in between and everything after, Sam is building the great wall of China as far as his mental and emotional stability goes. 

In one of those odd writer short cuts, I frequently see Dean and Sam like this: Dean has issues. Dean has huge, mind numbingly difficult issues from the loss of his mother, his fear of being left, his obedience/respect for his father, the fact that he's killed and probably not always justifiably in retrospect (like it seemed the only recourse at the time), his love for Sam, what he thinks about his life, his morals, his choices…Dean has a lot of issues.

Sam, however, doesn’t have issues so much as he has layers. Layers between who he is, who he wants to be and who he thinks he is. And every one of those layers is glued together with a lot of guilt and fear. There's love there too, and confidence, because Sam wouldn’t be nearly as stable as he is if he didn't have that. And it doesn't really matter if it's Dean or John or both of them, the truth is, Sam can build the great wall of China because he's got good foundations. 

But the problem with really high walls is…it's easy to fall off. And the same foundation you built your wall on, will break your bones if you hit it on the way down. 

Which is a really odd metaphor for saying, I couldn't peel back enough layers on Sam to get a coherent POV out of him on this. I know he feels like both a victim and a criminal here. I know he doesn’t think he invited this on himself, that he asked for none of it -- and yet some part of Sam still thinks he's the cause of horrible things. 

So, it's Dean who makes the observation that part of the problem here for Sam is that he can't blame his rapist. Had it been Lee or Jarrod or Pa, I think Sam would and could have been murderously enraged. He is sickened and enraged by their treatment of Missy. But as with Max, Sam cannot separate the upbringing from the actions. 

And on some level that applies to Dean as well. I mean that in the way that Sam puts a lot of weight on how he and Dean were raised to explain why Dean sometimes goes off the deep end. 

Dean is very much an effect guy. If bad things are happening, you stop them from happening. The result is everything. 

But Sam is very much about the cause and the effect. About why and how things happen as much as the result they produce. I think in the episode Asylum we saw very much what Sam would be like if you took out his ability to analyze and yes, make excuses, for things that bother him. In that way, I think there is possibility that Sam, stripped of that part of his personality, would be very dangerous and not just to ghosts or demons. Had Sam not questioned their life, all his life, he would be the Lee Bender of the Winchesters.

And completely tangentially to this story, I think that's part of what the demon wants from Sam, with his gifts, his abilities. Sam without his compassion or his questioning everything would be a perfect tool.

Which is something I never actually wanted to know or believe about Sam. 

Which is why this story creeped me out on so many levels. 

(And which - some 7 years later we actually saw happen when we saw Sam returned from his sojourn in hell without his soul.)

I'm shutting up now. If you've got questions, if you've got comments or observations…have at it.


End file.
